East & West
by skittles84
Summary: Faberry. AU, 1907 Oklahoma. Quinn Fabray knows exactly what the future has in store for her – until Rachel Berry moves to town. As Rachel's big dreams spread like wildfire, Quinn wonders if her future truly is set in stone.
1. Chapter 1: Somewhere That's Green

**My fourth fic, and first stab at a Glee fic. *I do not own Glee or Glee characters* This is an AU western set in 1907. In the settlement of New Lima in Oklahoma (and when I started this fic I didn't even know there was a Lima Oklahoma, talk about luck...) Any questions you have feel free to leave in comment or pm me. I always welcome constructive critism and, of course, undeserved praise. ^_^ Speaking of praise, I'd like to thank my best friend and beta reader, invisimeg, once again for taking on the colossal task of helping me find errors in my stories.  
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**Somewhere That's Green**

Quinn Fabray sat impatiently at her desk with her hazel eyes staring blankly ahead; instead of reading the titles on the new world map their teacher had pinned up, she was absentmindedly following the thickly drawn lines up and down the paper. The blonde didn't care about states, territories, or what countries bordered them and frankly she couldn't see why Miss Pillsbury would waste their time with it. Out of the handful of students in the class, Quinn could only think of one or two that would consider going to university, and even at that, they would be right back here to take on their family businesses. Now that she thought about it, she couldn't see why their teacher went through the effort of teaching them at all; she was struggling to remember why she still attended classes this year when her family had given her the choice. Quinn felt she knew everything she needed to know already; she knew that when the year was out, she would marry Finn Hudson, she knew she would move into the large house on the ranch he had inherited when his father died, she knew they would raise a family and enjoy the good life, and she knew that aside from the mayor, they would be the most prosperous people in the settlement of New Lima. Now that the blonde thought about it, it seemed silly to be wasting time in school—wasting her time learning the names of places she'd never see.

The classroom erupted with laughter when Puck lazily answered Miss Pillsbury with a lewd guess at the capital of some foreign country. The redhead stammered as she tried to compose herself and regain the attention of the classroom. A few moments later, Finn began to chuckle and Quinn was reminded of why she had decided to bother with another semester of classes; he looked back at her with a dopey grin. She smiled and nodded, letting him know she had understood his best friend's joke, and turned her attention back to the still stammering woman, who was nervously wringing her hands at the front of the classroom. She almost felt sorry for Emma; the woman wasn't very well suited for teaching and her students didn't make it easy, least of all Puck. No one really understood why Puck showed up to class every day. He certainly didn't seem to care about learning and often left early and only ever opened his mouth to crack jokes. She smiled to herself as her hazel eyes glanced over to him—she knew.

"Good try," Brittany said encouragingly to Puck before adding brightly, "but I think that's in France."

Quinn rolled her eyes; sometimes she didn't know what to do with the other blonde and other times she didn't know what she would ever do without her. She scanned the room with one eyebrow cocked and ready for anyone who might be laughing at her best friend; several students were struggling to contain themselves, but by now they all knew better than to openly mock the simpler girl. From her desk in the center of the room, she spotted Santana, who was making the same, if not more aggressive, scan of their fellow students, and her smile faltered for a moment. Their eyes locked briefly and Quinn sighed shooting Brittany a quick smile before pretending to be interested in the open book in front of her. The blonde felt stupid to be bemoaning the past when there was such a bright future ahead; things used to be much simpler when the three of them were children—before things went wrong. She squeezed her hazel eyes shut and took a deep breath before turning the page and continuing to pretend to read. No—there was no sense feeling bad, especially when she was on the winning side. Besides, Santana always could take care of herself; she was strong. Quinn glanced across the room to see the brunette still staring at Brittany, who was giving her a soft smile and happy wave.

Before Miss Pillsbury had finished dismissing class, Puck was already up and ready to go; he flipped Quinn's book shut before she had even realized he was there.

"Don't read so much Quinn," he crooned. "It'll give you a head ache." He gave her a sleazy smile before yelling to Finn. "I'm heading out to the ranch, I'll get started on the back fence."

"Alright," Finn answered with a nod.

Puck gave Quinn another lopsided smile before rushing out. "Don't drag ass! I'm not gonna break my back out there alone," he called behind him.

Most of the students left quickly; most of them had chores to do or jobs to get to. The two blondes hung back at the door while their classmates emptied out of the one room schoolhouse. Finn met them at the door and leaned in for a kiss. Quinn turned her head so that his lips gently brushed her cheek and she let out a little laugh.

"Awe." Finn groaned. "Your dad can't see us."

Quinn stood up on her tiptoes and placed a quick kiss on his cheek before backing away.

"You never know," she said teasingly.

"But we're practically engaged." He continued to pout as he held the door for the two girls.

"I know," she soothed, "but we don't want to be tempted to do more, do we? You wouldn't want my father to think badly of you, do you?"

"No," Finn mumbled, a look of defeat settling over his face.

"Why don't you walk us home and say hello to him?" Quinn suggested.

He shifted uneasily for a moment. "I ought to get back to the ranch…" He shrugged.

"Puck's already there by now. He can get started without you," she insisted, batting her hazel eyes at him.

"Yeah…but Ma worries…" Finn protested weakly as he made his way over to his horse and climbed into the saddle.

It was Quinn's turn to pout. "How are we ever going to actually be engaged if you avoid talking to my father?"

He fidgeted with the reigns, his face locked in an all too familiar dazed expression as his mind fumbled for a solution. Brittany had already crossed the street and was waiting for Quinn to join her in front of the large white church that sat opposite the little beat down school building. The blonde sighed impatiently.

"I'll see if Ma'll invite ya'll to dinner on Sunday," he promised cheerfully.

"Sounds lovely." Quinn forced a smile, though no one would ever have been able to guess it wasn't genuine, and nodded before joining her friend on the other side of the street.

Their family's stores were connected and the two blondes always made their walk home together. It never took very long; New Lima wasn't exactly impressive, but the Fabray's were convinced that someday it would be. Quinn didn't remember anything about Ohio or the journey out west to Oklahoma territory since she was a baby when they moved. All she knew about life before New Lima was stories her sister had told her. Frannie had married well and promptly moved back east, often sending letters and charming photographs of her quickly growing family. Her parents would beam proudly as they put the pictures up for display, her father priding himself on finding his daughter a fine Christian man in good standing and her mother brightly assuring her that one day her life would be as full and wonderful as her sister's.

She smoothed a few wrinkles out of her light blue, cotton dress while Brittany chattered away at her side as they walked past the church and stepped up onto the wooden planks of the sidewalk.

"I still don't see why he won't treat Lord Tubbington." Brittany sighed as they passed the doctor's office. "It's not fair."

Quinn smiled gently and patted her friend's hand; the girl was simple, that was undeniable, but that was exactly why she liked spending time with her. There was just something pure and sweet in the other blonde that made her irresistible to be around. Quinn couldn't help but envy the fantasy world the girl seemed to live in; her blue eyes seemed to just see things no one else could while at the same time they missed a lot of the uglier bits of life. Once again, Brittany's face lit up with a smile as she waved and Quinn looked ahead to see Santana waving back from in front of the general store.

"What's wrong?" the blue eyed girl asked when she heard her friends irritated sigh.

"She's always staring at you," Quinn said.

"So?" Brittany shrugged. "We're all friends."

"Britt—" she said a little sharper than she meant to; then she added softly, "not anymore."

"Well I'm still her friend," Brittany said defiantly. "Why aren't you?"

"Hello, Miss Sylvester," Quinn called, waving as they passed by the sheriff's window. The woman gave them both a slight nod as they passed.

They remained silent as they passed the bank, the click of their heeled boots on rough wooden slabs seemed to echo louder in front of the empty building, and she was happy for a chance to change the subject.

"The new banker and his family should be here soon," Quinn stated.

"I don't understand why," the other girl insisted, staring at her friend as they stopped in front of the Fabray house.

"Because things are different now." She sighed.

"Why?" Brittany asked innocently.

Quinn couldn't think of a way to explain to her friend why their situation was different; none of the reasons would make any sense to her. She could say it was because Santana was from the wrong side of the tracks, because her family didn't have as much money as them, because the girl was practically Brittany's employee, and because they weren't kids anymore and they were expected to grow up and socialize the way their parents did—with politics in mind. None of those things would mean anything to Brittany. So instead, she shrugged and repeated herself for what seemed like the hundredth time—_because that's just the way it is_.

"I know you still like her," Brittany insisted. "I can tell by the way you smile when she snaps at people in class. You almost died laughing when she told Kurt Hummel that they were out of pink silk, so his order had to be put on hold."

Quinn suppressed a giggle. "Well it was funny."

"Want to come in and see the new patterns?" the blue eyed girl offered as she headed for her family's shop.

One of the best things about Brittany was that negative conversations never lasted long; she either got distracted or simply refused to dwell on them. The Pierce family ran a clothing shop connected to the general store Quinn's father owned and operated. Between the two businesses, the girls always had the newest and best of everything.

"Not right now; I should check in at the store first. Maybe later." Quinn smiled as her friend disappeared into the tailor shop.

Quinn stood outside the general store for a few moments; she could tell there weren't any customers inside because she could hear her father's voice rising as he complained to her mother. Russell Fabray never yelled in public. The entire community knew him as a well-mannered and good-humored gentleman; he had keen business sense and broad shoulders, and he was very nearly as well respected as the mayor. His gruff words wouldn't be heard over the hum of sewing machines next door and the house on the other side of their store was empty for the time being. The blonde listened quietly as she stood nervously in front of the main door. He was grumbling about the empty building across from the Sheriff's Office; he had planned to buy it and expand the general store, but the previous owners had accepted a higher offer. It was old news, but apparently today he had discovered that not only had it be snatched from him by strangers from who-knows-where, but it was going to be made into a saloon. Quinn could hear her mother gently trying to calm him as he ranted about the evils of liquor and the erosion of common decency in the world today.

As if on cue, Quinn's attention was jolted away from her father's voice inside to the sound of wagons clattering down the street. She turned to see two wagons come to a stop across from the Sheriff's Office; one was a very simple horse drawn cart filled with furniture and crates of supplies while the over was covered and had clearly served as shelter as well as packing. People were already milling about, anxious to get a look at the newcomers, which made it hard for Quinn to get a good look at either of the drivers; a few boys from school were already offering to help unload. The blonde smiled a little to herself at the thought of her father meeting them; no doubt he would put on a pleasant smile and offer them a firm handshake—because after all, they would soon be new customers. The first cart was emptying fast and one of the drivers split off from the crowd and headed to the back of the second wagon; he offered his hand to steady someone inside. Quinn's jaw dropped a little when she saw the short brunette emerge; the girl made an awkward little hop down to the dusty street and looked around wide eyed at the town.

Quinn Fabray stared down the street at the girl; something about her seemed magnetic and the blonde couldn't shake the sense that there was something larger than life bundled up inside the petite figure, who was still gazing around as though she had landed on some strange and mysterious land. Her warm brown hair hung loosely around her shoulders and swayed with every turn of the girl's head as she seemed to be trying to look everywhere at once. It had been years since Quinn had worn her hair down; it wasn't lady like her mother had always said, and she reached up to smooth her painstakingly styled blonde curls now. When the new girl spotted her, she started waving cheerfully. Before she could wave back, her father opened the door loudly behind her and called her into the store.

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Rachel Berry woke up to the jostling of the wagon over uneven terrain once again; she felt as though she hadn't had a solid night's sleep in nearly a month—maybe longer. When they camped at night, the sounds of the open wilderness made her nervous and kept her awake, and the roads were far too rugged to allow her much rest during the day. Her fathers did their best to keep her in high spirits; they would all sing together around the campfire, they would talk about New Lima and the business they would open there, and about all the friends she would make in their new home. They always talked about the future and despite her nature, she managed to hold her tongue about the past. This was the fourth time they had moved on to _bigger and better things_.

LeRoy and Hiram never talked about why they were moving—not to her; they would tell her the town was beginning to feel crowded and she had long since learned that meant someone had found out about them. They wanted to protect her from it, but she knew more than she let on to her fathers; she knew they moved because of her. If it were just the two of them, they would stay in one place and let people think what they wanted about two men who wanted to spend their lives together. Rachel knew that the reason they were all jostling down a prairie road was because of her. If they stayed then she would be tormented; people would make fun of her, hurt her to hurt them, or they would try to take her away. She remembered the first time a city had _become crowded_; LeRoy hadn't wanted to leave.

"This is our home!" he had shouted. She remembered the trembling of his voice even though she hadn't been old enough to even realize what was going on. "It's her home; it's where we…where we became a family…"

Rachel rolled over and took a deep breath, hoping she could fall back to sleep, but her mind was already too busy and she was too conscious of the motion of the wagon. All she could do what lay there and think about the past and the future. She was determined to will herself to believe that this time, this town, New Lima, would be better. She could make friends and no one would bother them. They could stay there and she could keep singing—she would be famous someday. Soon she would be old enough to move back east; she would go to Broadway and leave her mark on the world like other visionaries had been doing. Someday she would fill audiences with the thrilling awe and wonder that she had experienced when her fathers used to take her.

She sat up quickly and combed her fingers though her long brown hair; she missed her routine. Traveling made it impossible to keep tidy and groomed, at least to her standards. The wagon shuddered to a stop and she popped her head out the back flap; it was still midday and they rarely made stops until sunset.

"Dad," Rachel called; hearing no answer her voice quickly became more urgent. "Daddy! Is something wrong?"

Hiram came around with a smile. "Everything's fine dear. There's no need to panic."

Rachel climbed out of the cart and stretched. The panic rapidly melting away as her muscles relaxed.

"I was only concerned because it seemed a bit early to stop for the day. A wheel could have broken or…or…" she defended herself.

"Well it's nothing so drastic as that," he said cheerfully, giving her a quick hug. "We're close now and we thought it would be nice to stop. Let you get cleaned up, since we know impressions are important to you, and have a bite to eat before we arrive."

The brunette smiled and gave him a warm hug. "Thank you."

"Be sure to thank your father too," Hiram said.

Rachel quickly rounded the wagon and caught LeRoy up in a hug. "Thank you," she said brightly. "Would you like me to help with lunch?"

"No, no," he sighed, "I think your old dads can handle lunch. There's a creek over there. It's not much, but we work with what we have, right?"

Rachel scurried back to the cart to grab her toiletries and her father followed behind her.

"Once we get to New Lima you'll be back to your famous routine," he promised cheerfully.

"It's perfectly fine, daddy," she assured him.

"She's been a little trooper," Hiram said as he wrapped LeRoy up in an enthusiastic hug.

She smiled as she made her way down to the water to get washed up. She could hear her father's laughing, which made her happy; they didn't get many chances to be like this and once they got into town, the likelihood of them having times like would be slim indeed—at least until they had the money to build a house farther out of town. All their money was in the building they had purchased, the supplies to get there and get started, and enough to keep them comfortable for a while. They would be depending a lot on the success of their Alehouse and Inn.

The water was cold and she bathed as quickly as she could; her hands were shaking, but she couldn't be sure if it was from the chilling stream or nerves. She couldn't help but feel excited and anxious; soon she would see their new home. Normally she would be fretting over what clothes to wear, but fate had already taken care of that; she only had two clean outfits, so she was able to decide quickly.

She decided not to return to camp for a while to give her fathers a little more time alone. On the other side of the creek, there was a large, open field; the flowers and grass swayed in the breeze and she decided to take a walk to warm up while her hair dried. The field was alive with vibrant but simple flowers; their smell filled the air and mixed with the scent of earth and the brook she had bathed in. Rachel couldn't help but think this place seemed like a song. _I wish I knew it_, she thought to herself. She decided right then that this time was going to be it. New Lima would be a better place—all her dreams could start to come true.

"I'll make friends, I'll keep singing, I'll be famous…" the brunette chirped to herself as a bright smile spread across her face. "I might even fall in love."

Rachel spun around in the sunlight, enjoying the freeing feeling of the open field and the bright blue sky. It felt good to take a break from being practical and just feel the magic of the moment. The brunette hummed to herself, a song she didn't quite remember—just a tune she vaguely recalled from when she was little—as she began collecting flowers.

She let out a little yelp when she turned around to see two young men staring at her; they were both leaned against the other side of a fence. She hadn't realized how far she had wandered from the creek. Rachel's cheeks flushed bright red as she faced them.

"Oh…uh…hello," she stammered.

The boys remained silent; the taller one stared slack jaw at her while the other's eyes shrewdly scrutinized her. Her cheeks burned ever hotter in the silence.

"Hello. My name is Rachel Berry. My family and I are headed into New Lima to open up a business. Are you from there? It's really beautiful here. Is this your land?" The brunette continued to babble desperately as she tried to break the embarrassing quiet. "It's nice to meet you."

Puck elbowed Finn roughly and laughed a little.

"You know it's quite impolite to stare like that." Her voice pitched a little. "You should introduce yourself. The least you could do is say something."

"You're a little off aren't you?" Puck volunteered with an amused look on his face.

"I…excuse me?" Rachel faltered, her temper flaring but rapidly retreating again.

"Never mind," Finn said, suddenly snapping out of his daze. "I'm Finn…Hudson. This is Puck…Puckerman…I mean Noah."

"Puck." His friend shrugged, giving her another curious look, before stepping back from the fence. "We're done here, Finn. Let's go."

With that, the gruffer boy turned and sauntered away, along the fence, towards their horses. Finn continued to stare and Rachel stepped a little closer to the railing.

"Your friend certainly isn't very friendly," she said.

"Yeah, Puck's like that…sometimes," he answered. "Don't mind him."

"Is he a native?" The brunette asked, quickly flushing red again. "Goodness, I'm sorry, that was rude…I didn't mean…of course it doesn't matter I just…"

The tall boy chuckled. "Nah…he just likes to keep his hair like that."

Puck called loudly from the horses and Finn jumped a little, as though he had forgotten the other boy was there; he turned to Rachel and shrugged.

"Well…I gotta go…" he mumbled. "Uh…welcome to New Lima…uh…what was your name again?"

"Rachel." She smiled. "Thank you. It was a pleasure to meet you."

"Alright…well…see ya…" Finn smiled back before heading off to join his friend.

Rachel watched them ride away and suddenly realized her fathers were probably worried. She rushed back through the field and across the creek, picking up her belongings quickly, and made her way back up the little hill to their wagons. Luckily they had not panicked, simply assuming that she was taking her usual time in her habitual grooming regimen. With lunch finished, Rachel cleaned up while her fathers packed a few supplies back into place and inspected the wagons.

LeRoy offered for her to sit with him while they road into town, but Rachel decided to ride in back; she had a nagging feeling that she may want to change her outfit after all, but she abandoned the idea quickly when she realized the uneven road beneath them would make it impossible. She was relieved when the vehicle finally shuddered to a stop.

Rachel ran her fingers desperately though her hair as she headed to the back of the wagon, but once she reached the flap she paused, her nerves taking over her. The eager sound of people's voices filtered through the canvas covering and it was apparent that a small crowed had already gathered outside.

Hiram tapped lightly at the flap. "We're here darling. Want to join us?"

"Of course…" Her voice trembled. "I just need…uh…"

"Your public awaits," her dad encouraged her quietly.

The brunette closed her eyes for a second and imagined the rough, plain canvas to be a rich draped Broadway curtain; she took her father's hand and climbed out of the wagon. She gazed around as she tried to memorize the new town. Directly across from their building was a sheriff's office; its large front window framed an intense looking woman with a severe mannish haircut. Rachel waved, but the woman remained still, her face set in an almost comical grimace. She turned her brown eyes away from that side of the street; to the right she could see a blacksmith shop that seemed to be where most of the young men who were helping them now had come from. Beyond that, an empty looking store front—she could see people peeking out the back windows and determined there was an attached house. Beyond that was a large, official looking building that was clearly the court house; she could see a beautiful garden beyond that, but the court house itself obscured most of it.

Rachel turned her attention back across the street; a pleasant looking house, then a tailor's store attached to a general store. Her dark eyes caught sight of a tall blonde staring at her and she gasped; Rachel suddenly understood the term breathtaking—this girl definitely was. There was something alluring in the girl's smile, and everything else about her for that matter; before she realized it she was waving at the blonde. The door to the general store swung open and the girl disappeared inside. The street seemed dimmer out of the blue, as though a cloud had abruptly drifted across the sun, and the brunette wondered what time it was; it must have been a least four in the afternoon. She turned her attention back to the town.

To the left of their building, at the far end of the road, sat what she determined to be a small school house with a patchy little play area along its side. Closer to their building was a fairly new looking post office; a man was making his way from there now, a small bundle of letters tucked under his right arm. He greeted LeRoy cheerfully and handed over the correspondence. Rachel strode over to them to take the mail for him.

"Most of it came in yesterday," the man explained. "Sorry to bring it over while you're busy, but I was just closing up and figured you would want it sooner rather than later. I'm Will Schuester."

"It's no trouble," LeRoy assured him as he handed the bundle of letters over to his daughter.

"Looks like you have a lot of help here already," Mr. Schuester commented. "But I'd be glad to pitch in if you'd like."

Rachel liked the tone of his voice; she could tell right away he had a well trained singing voice. She prided herself on recognizing talent quickly in others.

"I'm sure they will call you just the minute they run out of pomade or sheet music, William," a sarcastic voice interjected, "but I don't see how anyone could make use of your scrawny little excuse for a body."

Everyone jumped; no one had seen the Sheriff cross the street to join them.

"Just being friendly to our new neighbors Sue…Miss Sylvester," Will said gently. "There's no need to…"

"That's Sheriff Sylvester," she corrected as she turned her attention to LeRoy. "I hear you're opening up a saloon here in my little town."

"Actually," Hiram answered as he joined them, "it's an Alehouse and Inn."

The sheriff's eyes narrowed as she looked over Rachel's fathers for a moment. The brunette held her breath; this woman made her very nervous, and she felt as though the angry looking lady could see right through them.

"Alehouse." Sue huffed. "Mighty fancy word for boozed soaked whorehouse. Class it up all you want, but I'll have my eye on you. I'm a law around here and no one crosses Sue Sylvester."

"I feel safer already," Hiram answered smoothly. "It's good to know the law is so invested in public safety."

LeRoy held out a hand to the sheriff, who recoiled a little bit before gripping it in a none too friendly handshake. "You should stop by after we're set up; our selection is tasteful, and the food is good as well."

Sue retracted her hand quickly and gave them a stiff nod before locking Rachel in a hard stare.

"Welcome to New Lima," the sheriff spat.

"Thank you," Rachel squeaked as the woman stalked back across the street.

"Don't let Sue get to you," Will volunteered. "She's been especially tense since the bank…well…she'll warm up to you I'm sure."

The brunette shot him a grateful glance before following her fathers into their new home. There was still a lot to do; she hoped to have her bedroom unpacked and in order before sunset—she was in a hurry to be settled in. Once she had her room as she wanted it, things could start to become normal. She had two days to get things in order, then it would be Monday and her first day at a new school—the beginning of her new life.

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**I am trying to keep historically accurate; however, I will not be dealing with issues of race in this story. Some of the character dynamics will be a little different in this AU (at least at first) and some characters will not exist. Like I said, I am trying to keep accurate to technology but it's possible I will make a few mistakes here and there. I am trying to balancing creative flow with quick internet searches; but I promise to try my best. If you are a History Major/Buff, fair warning, you are probably going to get irritated with me. That being said - I hope it's enjoyable. I greatly appreciate any and all comments and reviews - so if you have the time please leave a little feedback. (Succumbed to tumblr, see profile for link of you're interested.)  
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	2. Chapter 2: Poor Thing

**Thank you everyone who had read, followed, and reviewed this story. It means a lot to me to get feedback and to be honest I wasn't expecting this strong of a reaction. I had a few questions but there is no point in answering them in the author note since they are about to be answered in story.  
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***I do not own Glee or Glee characters*  
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**Poor Thing**

With much effort, and equal assistance from her fathers, Rachel had managed to transform an empty room in their building into very nearly the bedroom of her dreams. Her fathers insisted that only her bed be carried into her room the night they arrived and she had been quite too exhausted by then to argue. Even after the impressive amount of furniture had been hoisted up the stairs and through the narrow hallway to her room, she had spent much of that night shifting what furnishings she was able to move by herself—several times—and called for assistance regularly until everything sat in what she deemed the absolute perfect spot. She didn't sleep at all that night as she rummaged through crates and luggage sets, determined that if she were to have a friend by Monday evening, her room would be presentable. It hadn't been an easy task to accomplish in two days, which explained the brunette's ability to fall fast asleep Sunday night despite her excited nerves about the day to come.

The ornate grandfather clock chimed from across the room and Rachel sat up quickly, tossing her blanket aside, as she lit the oil lamp on her bedside table and slipped her feet into her house slippers. She made her way to the short, pot belly stove in the far left corner; she coaxed the fire back to life with a little kindling and a few chunks of wood before placing a heavy kettle on top of it. She passed her vanity and mirror to the large wardrobe that sat just past the floor clock that had woken her; the petite girl warmed up her voice as she opened the wardrobe and pulled out her favorite dress, draping it gently across the vanity's ottoman on her way back to check the progress of the water on the stove. Along the left wall was her bookshelf, brimming with literature and bound collections of sheet music, and her writing desk. Rachel gently straightened the small stack of papers and supplies she had set aside for school.

The kettle began to hiss and Rachel rushed over to pour the steaming contents into the white and pink basin on her vanity, adding cold water from the matching pitcher until it was a comfortable temperature. After tidying up, she slipped into her grey plaid dress; she adjusted the large pink bow in the back and secured the small pink buttons on the sleeves, at her wrists. Though the dressmaker she had order it from disagreed with her, the brunette felt that the lively pink stood out nicely against the light grey and dark blue accent of the plaid, and she felt the added pink ribbon stripes across the bottom of the long, full skirt and at the wrists made for the perfect touch. It was the first dress her fathers had left completely up to her discretion and she was quite proud of it. It would have been one of her favorite memories if the woman hadn't been constantly contradicting her and trying to suggest changes—suggestions that Rachel was still sure were meant only to goad her into spending more money. The neckline was high, but not constricting and the front was simple; no frills or ribbons, she attached a simple star shaped brooch before starting on her hair. She had been thinking of putting her hair up ever since she saw how lovely the blonde girl's hair looked the day they had arrived, but she wasn't sure how to go about it. Her father's always said there would be time for that particular kind of torture later in life, so after a few failed attempts at recreating the look, she abandoned the endeavor. Instead, she tied a ribbon—pink to match the accents of her dress—into her long, brown hair like a headband.

The clock chimed again and the brunette jumped; even though she still had plenty of time, she didn't want to be late for her first day, so she pulled off the slippers and wrestled into her stockings quickly. She laced up her simple black and while shoes and checked herself in the full length mirror, next to the wardrobe, before collecting her supplies and then, once again, checking the mirror before leaving the room. Despite her pleas, her fathers insisted that she at least eat a small breakfast before they released her for her first day at school. Finally, after a quickly choked down meal and many hugs, kisses, and well wishes from both parents, she was free to leave.

As Rachel stepped though the swinging, double doors and onto the sidewalk she instantly spotted the blonde girl from Friday across the street, along with another blonde whose hair was tied back in a pony tail, as they came to a stop in front of the empty bank building. The brunette put on a bright smile and waved as she tried to ignore how dauntingly beautiful the other girl was. Both blondes returned her wave and the girl from Friday began to cross the street in her direction; the other girl stood for a moment, as though utterly baffled by her friend's actions, before following slowly behind.

"Hello," the blonde greeted, her hazel eyes locking on to Rachel's brown eyes, as she held out her hand softly. "I'm Quinn Fabray."

Rachel's breath caught for a moment; it seemed like the girls eyes here staring into her—like the girl could see everything about her in one small glance.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the brunette chirped. "I'm…"

"Rachel Berry," Quinn interrupted. "I know. My family has done a lot of snooping over the past few days. Me too, I'll admit." She added the last part casually.

Normally a statement like that would have set off alarm bells in the petite girl's head; why were they snooping, what did they know, did they suspect something already, and so on. However, with the comment coming from the girl in front of her, it seemed flattering—like a complement.

"And this is Brittany Pierce," the girl added as her friend joined them.

"Hello, Brittany." Rachel smiled distractedly, her mind still buzzing a little.

"Hello," Brittany said brightly before quietly adding. "Did your stork drop you?"

"I…stork…what?" the brunette stammered.

"Britt…" Quinn moaned, her cheeks turning pink, as she patted her friend's shoulder gently. "This...uh…isn't quite the time to ask something like that. Okay?"

"I don't understand," Rachel continued as she tried to make sense of the other girl's statement. "What exactly are you trying to ask me? Stork?"

"She doesn't know about storks…" Brittany mumbled to Quinn, "…there's not really time to explain it before school is there?"

Quinn shook her head no and sighed.

"It's ok. I can ask you later after you understand…" the girl said as she swayed a little in place. "Though you really should know about these kinds of things already since I think you're old enough to get married…San!"

The blonde girl's ponytail bobbed as she excitedly waved at the girl slowly approaching them on the sidewalk. Rachel turned and waved as well; she noticed that Quinn didn't—her hazel eyes were locked straight ahead as though there were suddenly something very interesting about the alehouse's doorframe.

"This is Rachel Berry. She's the one you were talking about the other day; you said you saw her on the saloon balcony and you thought…" Brittany babbled cheerfully.

"Uh huh..." Santana interrupted quickly, as she shot Rachel a piercing glance. "Come on, Britt, you don't want to be late for school."

With that, the tan girl locked arms with the cheerful blonde and began gently guiding her down the sidewalk; she casted a menacing glance back at them as she listened to the other girl continue to talk. Rachel let out a sigh, which was echoed by a sigh of relief from Quinn.

"Who was that?" the brunette asked tentatively as they began to walk.

"Santana Lopez," the blonde replied off handedly. "She works for Brittany's family at the tailors."

"Is there something I should know about her?" Rachel asked. "It seems like there is something going on between you two."

"What do you think of New Lima?" Quinn asked quickly.

"I don't really know yet…" the brunette replied. "Though it seems nice enough."

They chatted about general things as they continued towards the small school house; despite the blonde's sudden change of attitude earlier, Rachel found herself very happy to talk about safer topics. The weather somehow seemed more interesting in the other girl's slightly raspy tone. It wasn't long before they reached the steps, but Quinn stopped at the bottom while many of the students climbed past them, many of them staring as they passed.

"Finn!" Quinn called from the steps as he rode up. "Finn, I want you to meet…"

"Rachel." Finn smiled as he walked up.

"You remembered." The brunette smiled.

The blonde looked curiously between the two of them and cleared her throat; Rachel waited uncomfortably for him to explain their meeting, but he continued to smile at the both of them as though everything were normal.

"We met briefly when my family stopped to rest before coming into town," she explained quickly.

"Oh," Quinn said, her smile growing a little too big to be genuine. "You didn't mention that at all at dinner on Sunday, Finn."

The boy's face went blank for a moment as his girlfriend's eyes studied him.

"Well, it wasn't exactly a big meeting; just a passing hello, really," Rachel assured her.

"Ah," the blonde responded. "It's just that I would have though he'd say something since he knew I was so curious about meeting you and your family."

Her eyebrow arched and he shuffled uneasily for a moment.

"I don't know," he defended himself. "I just didn't think about it."

The bell rang and as the teacher called them in; Quinn shot Rachel a soft smile before locking arms with Finn and ascending the stairs. The brunette followed excitedly behind them, but once inside, realized there weren't any available desks—or chairs for that matter. She looked around nervously as the teacher began writing the lesson plan on the board; it seemed like everyone's eyes were on her except the instructor's. She recognized Finn's friend from the other day, his eyes still bore into her as though her face were on upside-down, instantly making her self-conscious. Brittany eagerly patted a small patch of chair she had scooted to make room for; she really seemed to believe that they could both sit comfortably together, but it was clearly not an option. Santana eyed her suspiciously, her dark eyes smoldering with an unspoken threat that Rachel couldn't fathom the reason for. Most of her classmates seemed merely curious, their eyes scanning intently, as though she were some strange creature that had wandered in from the wilds. Quinn and Finn gave her reassuring smiles as she stood frozen under everyone's stares.

"Excuse me?" Rachel called nervously from the back, causing Miss Pillsbury to jump. "I'm sorry. I'm Rachel Berry. I'm a new student…"

"Oh! Of course!" The teacher sputtered. "I'm so sorry, I completely forgot that you were starting today; I guess I just thought you would need more time to get settled."

"Not at all," she continued, finding it a little easier to ignore the stares now that the silence was broken. "I'm ready to jump right in. I'm sure I'll be able to keep up; my parents have supplemented all my education on top of what I was learning in school before we moved, so there shouldn't be any gaps in learning."

"That's fine." Miss Pillsbury nodded. "I'll just have to find you a place to sit…"

"How about up front, on the floor, with the other small fries?" Santana volunteered with smirk.

The class rippled with laughter and Rachel swallowed hard and forced a smile.

"Class…now…settle…" their teacher begged. "Um…Mike, could you go out back please and get a desk from the shed?"

Mike nodded and headed for the door.

"I'll help too," Finn said, earning him a sharp glance from Quinn as he stood up and followed after Mike.

Rachel smiled at him as he passed; when she turned her head back to the room, the blonde's hazel eyes were on her and the brunette tried to steady her smile. The girl seemed so hot and cold; one moment shooting her a reassuring smile and the next studying her with a cocked eyebrow. The boys returned quickly with a desk and set it up in the back of the room; Miss Pillsbury assured her that at lunch time she would find her the required books. As class began, she did her best to focus on the subjects their teacher was discussing instead of the glances being cast her way; she'd never been one to shy away from attention—in fact she usually fed off it—but today it seemed to smother her. From the looks she was getting, she felt sure that half of the class had already picked her to pieces in their minds as though they were coming to some final judgment that would stand forever and there was no way for her to sway the decision.

_Calm down_, she told herself, _they're not judging me things just got off to a poor start—they can't possibly dislike me yet_. She caught another scathing look from Santana and shuddered. _Well, maybe she can_.

She was relieved when the lunch period finally came and all the students filed past her as she made her way up to the front of the room.

"Here you go," Emma said brightly. "These are your books; they're all pretty basic, but hopefully next year I'll be able to order some new ones."

Rachel took the small stack of greatly abused looking books and fidgeted in place for a few moments. The redhead gave her a nervous smile as she unpacked her lunch carefully and neatly onto the desk.

"It's not easy being new here, I know," she assured the girl. "But just hang in there and I'm sure everything will be great. Okay?"

"Oh, I've done this before," Rachel stated, sounding a lot braver than she actually felt. "I'm sure I'll fit in just fine."

"Yeah," Miss Pillsbury said tensely. "That's a very good attitude to have."

Rachel sat the books on her desk as she headed out the door, pausing for a moment to take a deep breath and prepare for whatever was in store for her outside. From the top step, she could see the general store owner passing out bottles to many of the students, though the younger ones were being made to share, as Quinn beamed proudly from her spot next to him.

"Root beer," the blonde explained cheerfully. "The shipment came in Saturday and daddy wanted to give us all a treat before the rest goes on the shelves."

Many of the students were pressing in, eager to sample the new treat, and Mr. Fabray smiled broadly as a chorus of _thank yous_ came from the students. Quinn smiled and seemed to glow with sheer pleasure as her classmates thanked her and inquired about other new items at the store. Her father spotted Rachel and waved her over, giving her a confidant smile as he handed her a bottle.

"Thank you Mr. Fabray." She smiled. "It's really very kind of you; I haven't had one of these since the last time my father took me to Broadway. It seems like such a long time ago."

Quinn's head jerked in her direction, her face both curious and cautious at the same time. The store owner's face fell.

"Your father took you Broadway?" he asked.

"Yes," Rachel answered brightly. "Not often of course, but I loved it when we got a chance to go. Did you ever go before your family settled here?"

"Absolutely not!" Russel snapped bluntly. "And I can't believe your father would take you there! It's nothing but a din of loose women and pansy boys, all of them drinking and carousing day and night, taking drugs, and living in all manner of sin without a thought to an honest days living. Mark my words, young lady, a place like that will infect the whole nation. One bad apple spoils the bunch and Broadway is a barrel of rotted fruit."

"But," the brunette stammered, "but it isn't like that really! It's wonderful, it's art; I know that at times it might seem like that to the untrained eye, but honestly it's…"

"Miss Berry," Mr. Fabray interrupted sternly. "It absolutely is! You're young and you don't know any better, but it is all those things and more. And don't talk back to your elders."

Rachel stood, speechless as Russel fixed her with a hard stare before turning cheerfully back to the rest of the students, handing out the rest until the crate he had brought over was empty.

"Well, I hope you all enjoyed this little treat," he said brightly and with a smile, as though never a hard word had left his lip. "And there is more for sale at the general store any time you want to stop by."

With that, he gave Quinn a soft kiss on the cheek before he strode off down the street. Rachel had already retreated to the steps, hoping to avoid any more stares and glares. She was glad to realize that the attention was securely on Quinn; the petite brunette watched from her seat on the bottom step as students seemed to buzz around the blonde, thanking her once again for the bottles of root beer and talking general gossip. Every once in a while Quinn's hazel eyes would rest briefly on her, but she couldn't decide what that meant; the gorgeous blonde seemed to radiate confidence, a glow the brunette hadn't seen since the great actresses she had looked up to as a child in a crowded theater. Rachel felt filled with an unshakable sense that she needed Quinn Fabray to accept her; the same feeling that told her that one day she herself was destined to shine on stage for crowds and applause. She was so engrossed in watching the blonde with her classmates that she didn't hear footsteps behind her.

"Well, arguing with Quinn's dad certainly wasn't the best first move," the boy spoke sharply, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. "But it was entertaining, I'll give you that. Kurt Hummel."

Rachel shook his outstretched hand. "Rachel…"

"Berry," Kurt finished. "I think everyone has heard at least a hundred times since you arrived."

"We're apparently quite the buzz." The brunette sighed. "Everyone's heard about me, but no one's talking to me."

"Except me," he corrected before adding nervously. "So…have you really been to Broadway?"

"Yes," she answered. "I miss it, even though we didn't get to go many times, it just…I don't even know how to explain it…it was like being home. I suppose that won't make me any more popular out here."

"Maybe not with some people," the boy said with a toss of his head. "My mother always wanted to take me, but then we moved out here and…"

He went quiet for a moment and looked down at the ground.

"And?" she inquired.

"She died." Kurt shrugged.

"Oh…oh my…I'm sorry…" Rachel stammered.

"So tell me about The Great White Way," he demanded enthusiastically. "You might have noticed we aren't exactly drowning in culture out here."

She laughed as she began to explain in great detail everything she could remember about the times she had gone—every title and actor, describing each theater from carpet to shingle. She tried to express every feeling and tell the story of each play, sometimes singing bits of her favorite songs as she let herself relive the best moments of her times there. Before she knew it, other students had begun to trickle over to listen, asking questions here and there or requesting she repeat a detail they had missed earlier. The brunette glanced up to see Quinn staring over at her; most of the people who had been clamoring around her earlier were now sitting near Rachel and only a handful of students remained at the blonde's side. It was apparent by Finn's vacant expression that his mind was elsewhere and Brittany wasn't concealing the fact that she was trying to hear the brunette's conversation from her place next to Quinn.

"Excuse me," Rachel said softly as she stood up, leaving the little crowd behind her as she approached the blonde. "Uh…Quinn?"

"What?" The blonde sighed.

"I just wanted to thank you again for your father's generous gift," she began softly. "And that I hope there's no hard feelings simply because he and I got off on the wrong foot. I certainly hope it doesn't hurt our friendship and I didn't mean for anything to happen that might have embarrassed you…"

"And why would I be embarrassed?" Quinn snapped.

"I just…" the brunette's voice faltered. "I mean, with everyone witnessing it and everyone so clearly interested in Broadway. I completely understand…a lot of people don't truly understand it…and I'm sure if he'd ever gone he would think differently…but that doesn't matter. As I said, I simply wouldn't want this one little incident to foster any bad feelings between us."

"You know what, Berry?" the blonde snapped. "Maybe Santana wouldn't mistake you for a child if you didn't dress and act like one."

The bell rang, but no one moved; Quinn stood up slowly and looked down at Rachel—her hazel eyes turning hard.

"Can I give you some advice?" the blonde continued, a cruel smile curling her lips. "Just because they're all curious doesn't make you special. Don't get too used to the attention."

For a moment Rachel stood shaking under the other girl's gaze; the still unopened bottle slipped from her fingers as she turned quickly and retreated through the group of onlookers and back inside. Miss Pillsbury had only caught part of the drama that had taken place since she had poked her head out to see why none of the students had returned to their seats. The teacher instructed the students to return to class as she guided her newest student back outside to help her calm down. After a few moments she had convinced the teacher that she could enter the schoolroom without crying. Once inside, she noticed that Kurt had moved his desk to the back of the room next to hers; he patted her empty chair and waved her over. The brunette wiped her eyes quickly and sat down, forcing a smile as she concentrated on steadying her nerves.

"Are you sure you want to sit with me?" she asked shakily.

"Au contraire," he assured her. "I suppose I kind of owe you for taking the focus off of me for the day. Besides, us dreamers have to stick together, right?"

The brunette giggled and shot him a grateful smile.

"You're not fooling anyone, Princess." Santana smirked from her seat across the room.

"What did I do now?" Rachel groaned as she rested her head on her desk.

"Oh no, that was for me." Kurt sighed, making a face at the dark haired girl a few rows away.

"Why is she so horrible to everyone?" she whispered. "And why doesn't anyone just stand up to her?"

"People used to, but Santana has a knack for beating them back down," the boy explained.

The rest of class passed uneventfully with the exception of Kurt filling her in on tidbits of gossip in exchange for answers about Broadway, which helped Rachel ignore the occasional glances and whispers of the other students. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief when Miss Pillsbury dismissed class; part of her wanted to bolt right away, while another, stronger part of her insisted on sticking it out for the chance of making a graceful exit. She was determined to keep her brown eyes fixed on the book in front of her until the room had emptied, assuming herself that then she would have proved that she wasn't shaken by the days events, and she would be free to make her way home without running into anyone else. The brunette could hear the click of fine dress shoes approaching; she took a deep breath, expecting a few more stinging retorts from her newly made enemies.

"You dropped this," Quinn's smooth voice crooned. "My dad went through all the trouble to give everyone one, so I would hate for it to go to waste."

"Keep it." Rachel's voice quivered as she peeked up at the blonde. "I don't think I could stomach it now."

"Oh," the blonde replied as she pried the cap loose. "No really…you should have it. I insist."

With that, Quinn emptied the contents of the bottle out over the girl's head; the bubbly sweet liquid fizzed in the brunette's hair and trickled down her face and neck. The taller girl dropped the container unceremoniously on the desk in front of her as the room exploded with laughter. Rachel sputtered and gasped, unable to will herself to move, as the remaining classmates shuffled out of the tiny room. When she looked up, Emma was staring from the font of the room frozen, her eyes impossibly wide and her mouth hanging open; she seemed to be attempting to say something comforting, but was only managing nervous squeaks. The petite girl jumped up, shrugging off Kurt's arm, leaving her books and supplies behind, and made a blind dash for home.  
Moments later, as Rachel tearfully attempted to scrub off the sticky brown goop from her face, her fathers were once again gently knocking at her door.

"I'm fine! I'm fine, I just…want to be alone," she begged.

"Well, as fine as I'm sure you are, dear, you have a little friend asking about you downstairs," Hiram called softly through the door.

"Just tell whoever it is I will see them tomorrow," she pleaded.

"He said his name is Kurt," Her father continued. "Sweetie, he told us what happened. Are you sure you won't let us in?"

"We could help," LeRoy insisted.

"Just please…" the brunette continued in her most dramatic tone, "not now…just leave me alone."

Kurt's voice sounded sharply through the door. "I'm a master at getting any stain out of any fabric. Ask my dad; it's what he's both most thankful and embarrassed about me for."

She reluctantly opened the door to let the three men come tumbling in; she was in her dressing robe, her dress flung across the bed. Her fathers set to work helping her rinse her hair in the wash basin, Hiram leaving to collect an extra one from one of the other rooms, while Kurt surveyed the damage to the dress.

"It won't be hard to wash out; no stains have set," he assured her. "Though…are you sure you want to save it?"

"Of course," she asserted. "Why?"

"No reason," he chirped, dropping the dress back on the bed with a slight shudder. "What an interesting collection."

He was looking at the display case in the right corner of the room—a cattycorner shelf that took up much of that section of the room filled with dolls and little decorative boxes.

"Oh," Rachel chimed as she rinsed her hair one last time and wrapped it in a towel. "They're all characters from plays or the entertainers themselves."

"Really?" Kurt asked, inspecting the dolls a little closer. "I've never seen boy dolls."

"Yes," the brunette explained, "that one is Edwin and that's Junius; it used to be a three piece set, but after John—well, we got rid of that doll after the assassination of course."

"Of course." He nodded. "So they are all stars. Well this one looks like you."

"Exactly." She smiled and added matter-of-factly. "Because someday, I'll be a star too; it's my destiny."

"Ah," he replied.

"I mean it," she said seriously. "It's my dream and I'm not going to give up until I am on stage as the leading lady."

"It's a good dream." Kurt sighed wistfully. "Anyway, I'm really sorry about how terrible everything was today. Quinn can be cold, but it's usually Santana that…well, you know."

"On the bright side, I don't suppose it will happen again; root beer isn't cheap, so she can't afford to dump one on me every day." Rachel sighed.

"I'm not so sure about that," he corrected her before thinking. "But you're right; I'm sure the worst is over, tomorrow will..."

"Don't say it will have all blown over…" she pleaded.

"You're right," he agreed, as he headed for the door. "But at least tomorrow you'll have a friend, right?"

The frail looking boy turned to give her a halfhearted smile, which she returned with a small nod of her head.

"Yeah…" Rachel agreed. "I'd like that."

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**Thanks again for all the reviews and support. I hope you all enjoy this chapter. I also have started a tumblr as well, the link is on my profile.  
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	3. Chapter 3: The Sound of Music

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thanks once again to everyone who have reviewed and followed so far. I hope you all find this chapter enjoyable.  
**

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**The Sound of Music**

The afternoon sun beat down warmly on Quinn as she absentmindedly tended the flowers in the front yard garden. Their house sat back a comfortable five feet from the sidewalk and her mother prided herself greatly on the orderly garden that she said served as _the face of their home_. There wasn't much work to be done; her mother seemed to spend every spare moment fretting over the flowers. Quinn sighed and sat down on one of the short, garden benches; she looked around quickly before slipping her book out of her gardening smock. With her father on his traditional Sunday evening stroll and her mother busy preparing for dinner, the blonde knew she had nearly an hour of possibly uninterrupted reading—if she was lucky. Within fifteen minutes, she was so engrossed in short novel that she didn't hear two sets of footsteps approach her.

"O, when she's angry, she is keen and shrewd! She was a vixen when she went to school; and though she be but little, she is fierce," Santana read aloud as she and Brittany came to a stop in front of the bench.

Quinn held her breath as she continued to stare down at her book.

"It's the damnedest thing," the brunette spoke sharply. "There's a whole crate of books like these under Britt's bed."

The blonde shrugged as she closed her book and let out the breath she had been holding. "If you really find that interesting, I guess."

Santana squinted down at her with an all knowing smirk.

"You know, I'd be willing to bet that every single one of them is the same books your father refuses to order for people out of his catalog at the store," the girl continued as she flipped to another page of the book. "Oh and I can see why… Of spirit in a waste of shame is lust in action, and till action, lust. Is perjur'd, murd'rous, bloody, full of blame..."

Quinn rolled her eyes and looked up at her friend. "Britt, you promised; that was a secret. Remember?"

"She found them when she was helping me get Lord Tubbington out from under the bed," the other blonde explained apologetically. "But it's good because I tried to read one and it didn't make any sense, so she explained it to me."

The girl's lip stuck out in an impossibly convincing pout and Quinn struggled not to be too upset with her, but it wasn't easy to order, receive, and read those books without her father noticing. If Brittany started telling people, he was sure to find out.

"Relax, Fabray," Santana scoffed, "she's already sworn me to secrecy."

"It's okay, Brittany." The blonde assured her friend, now feeling much more secure about the situation.

The brunette eyed the cover of Quinn's book as she plopped down next to her on the bench. The blonde quickly tucked the novel back into her smock and stared resolutely up at her simple friend. She could feel the brunette glaring at her, but was determined to ignore her as best she could.

"Well, this is nice," Santana chimed sarcastically, giving the blonde a light smack on the thigh with the book she was holding. "The three of us almost spending time together. Just like old times. Well, without the fun."

Quinn hopped up and motioned for Brittany to take her spot as she moved over to the opposite bench. The cheerful blonde smiled between the two of them as though she believed they were making actual progress, not seeming to notice the silent battle going on between the two of them. Her ponytail bounced as she talked excitedly about clothes people had ordered and her plan to start making clothes for Lord Tubbington. The other two girls stared each other down; hazel eyes fused to deep brown orbs as they sat with forced smiles painted across their faces for Brittany's sake.

"Speaking of," Santana interrupted. "It's been real hard for me to make those adjustments you want to the dress you ordered, Quinn. It'd be a lot easier if I didn't have to work around that stick up your ass."

The three of them fell silent as Quinn jumped up from the bench and began heading for the door. She could hear Brittany protesting and apologizing for the other girl; as she reached the door, the other blonde began to scold the brunette for hurting her feelings. Her hand rested on the doorknob for a moment as she waited to see if the other girl would apologize, a little part of her hoping for a second chance to swallow her pride and be friendly.

"She doesn't have feelings," the brunette protested, her voice raising just enough to be sure that the blonde could hear her. "Not without daddy's permission she doesn't."

With great effort, Quinn managed to enter the house without slamming the door behind her. Her hands were shaking and she wanted nothing more than to make it to her room undetected. She listened carefully and was fairly sure she could hear her mother working in the kitchen down the hall; she quietly slipped off her shoes and left them next to the door. She glanced though the open archway to her left, which led into the living room, to be sure it was empty; the door to her father's study on the right was closed, so she knew he was still out on his walk. Quinn padded silently down the hall, past the door to her parents room on the right; she could clearly hear her mother setting the table in the dinning room to her left and she held her breath as she passed by its large open double doors.

"Quinn, dear," her mother called from the doorway.

For a split second, the girl's shoulders slumped, but when she turned around she had a bright smile on her face that perfectly hid her stress.

"Yes, mother," Quinn answered cheerfully.

"I was dusting in your father's study a few minutes ago and noticed you talking to the Lopez girl," Judy stated, her voice growing slightly grim. "You know how we feel about that."

"Oh, she and Brittany came over to discuss one of the dresses I ordered," the blonde lied expertly. "The pattern came in, but they are still waiting on the fabric."

Her mother's face still looked tense. "Well, I'll have to have a talk with Mrs. Pierce about the girl's attitude again. That girl has always been too rough and smart mouthed for her own good."

Quinn batted her eyes and smiled. "There's no need, she was actually quite polite this time."

"I saw her smack you with a book," Judy insisted.

"Oh, that…no." Her daughter laughed lightly. "She was just demonstrating the hemline on a skirt pattern she saw in next spring's catalogue. Of course it wouldn't have been polite of her to use her hands."

The older woman pursed her lips, but then smiled. "Surely she was making that up, dear. Skirts will never be made that short, and even if they were, certainly none of you would ever wear something like that."

"That's just what I told her," Quinn agreed, her cheeks becoming sore from all the fake smiling.

"Well, anyway, go wash up. Your father should be home soon," her mother dismissed her.

Quinn smiled and nodded as she ducked through the laundry room door and removed her smock before entering her room. She walked quickly to her hope chest, which rested at the foot of her bed, and deposited the book inside, under a stack of letters from her sister. Frannie often sent her personal letters that were meant to serve as tidbits of wisdom on being a successful wife; most of them were unread, but it made her parents happy to see that she was saving them ahead for the future—and they provided enough clutter to hide one book at a time. She closed the lid and sat down on the trunk for a moment as she brushed an angry tear off of her cheek.

Even though their encounter had been ugly, there was a part of her that had enjoyed it; truth be told, she missed Santana very much. The tree of them had been quite the pair; Brittany was always supportive and uplifting, but Santana had always been there to keep her on her toes. Quinn hadn't realized just how much she missed being knocked down a peg; perhaps not missed, but right now, after the week she'd had, she found herself wondering if she needed it. The feisty brunette had never taken anyone's bull, including Quinn's, without a fight and the blonde wondered to herself if she would be a better person if she received a tongue lashing like that a little more often.

She rolled her hazel eyes at herself a she made her way to her vanity and washed her hands in the basin. She splashed water on her face as she sat down in front of the mirror and examined her red rimmed eyes. The blonde felt relieved that she at least had talked her mother out of contacting the other girl's employer; after all, Santana was bound to be a bitch if she herself was going to treat her that way every time they crossed paths. Her hazel eyes blurred as she held back more angry tears; as usual, Quinn was angry with herself and she turned away from the mirror quickly.

The more she did what was expected of her, the more she acted the way society dictated, the more she hated herself and what she felt she was becoming. Why did she let other people decide who she was? She wished she could be like Brittany and not understand or notice or that she was strong enough to not care—because, despite all her reasoning, she knew there were no grounds for her not to be friends with the other girl simply because her family had less money.

_Get it together, Fabray,_ she thought to herself; once again she reminded herself that she had a good life and it was foolish to be miserable when everything was so good for her. She tossed her head and headed for the kitchen to see if her mother needed any help with dinner. Within an hour, her family was gathered around the table and her father was saying grace.

"How was school this week?" Judy asked.

"Very good," Quinn answered brightly.

"Have you had a chance to get to know the new girl, Rachel…I think her name is?" her mother continued lightly.

Before Quinn could answer her father cleared his throat loudly; clearly he hadn't discussed Monday's incident with his wife.

"That girl isn't a viable option for friendship for our Quinnie," he explained matter-of-factly.

"Oh." Judy sighed. "That's a shame. I had such high hopes. What with her father becoming a prominent business owner."

"Prominent maybe," Russell corrected. "But we don't need his kind of business in town if you ask me."

His wife nodded meekly as he continued. "The man stopped me on my walk today to discuss our daughters. He accused our Quinn of being cruel to her at school, which I know is nonsense; it's not her fault that his daughter isn't popular."

Quinn stared down at her food, picking at it nervously as she listened to what she knew would soon grow into a long rant that would probably rob her of her appetite.

"It's ridiculous. If you ask me, it's that girl's attitude and their business that makes her unpopular. Did you know they have her sing there after school? Now I ask you, what kind of man has his daughter singing in a saloon? If her mother were alive, I am sure the girl would be much better for it. You need a mother, a proper family, to raise a child right," he rambled and Judy nodded in solemn agreement. "The man should have remarried; if he had any sense he would have, and the other one. Why isn't he married? What hope does the girl have with no motherly influence? Mark my words, there is something wrong with that family."

"Quinn, you've barely touched your food," her mother commented.

The girl's hazel eyes snapped to attention and she smiled casually at her parents.

"I was just so interested in what daddy was saying I forgot all about dinner," she lied before taking a bite of chicken.

She concentrated on clearing her plate as her father continued to lecture on all the ways that her new classmate would never make it in life—on all the imagined shortcomings of the girl he had only spoken to once and written off for good. By the end, she was beginning to feel agitated; when Judy asked if she was feeling alright, she jumped at the opportunity to excuse herself to her room, feigning too much time in the sun earlier that day. The blonde paced her room as she tried to force down the irrational frustration that was welling up inside her. How could she be angry at her father for talking badly about Rachel Berry after all the things she had done to her this week? It seemed ridiculous until suddenly she realized that she wasn't angry with her father at all. She was angry at Rachel, even though that seemed silly to her as she realized it.

From the first time she saw the brunette hop out of that wagon, she had been dying to meet her. and once she had, the blonde had instantly felt a connection to her. She was furious with the girl for ruining that the first day. Why couldn't Rachel have just thanked her father for the gift like a normal person and left it at that? Why did she have to argue with him in front of everyone and make a scene, and once that was over could she let it just drop? Oh no, she had to go on and on about Broadway and how wonderful it is, and then the apology. _What was I supposed to say to that? _Quinn thought. _Why yes, Rachel, my father is a raging buffoon and I should be embarrassed to be his daughter._ The blonde was quickly realizing she couldn't be angry with her father; he was simply being as he had always been, but she had lashed out at the girl that day because she knew after that one event, that she would never be allowed to be friends with her. The blonde sighed as she changed into her nightgown and began taking her hair down for the night.

* * *

Quinn arrived early to school the next day, hoping to avoid running into Rachel on the way to class. She was determined to evade her at all costs; she couldn't be friends with her, but she hoped if she could just keep from having to speak with her, she wouldn't end up saying any more hurtful things. Since she was working hard on not looking at the petite brunette, she found herself staring at their teacher. There actually was something different about Miss Pillsbury today, but Quinn was struggling to figure out what it was.

"We have a special guest here today class," the redhead announced. "He has an interesting idea about a new subject for us to study and I think he's…it's just wonderful."

The woman immediately blushed and cleared her throat before continuing. "So, I would like you all to give Mr. Schuester your attention please."

"Good morning class," Will greeted the room excitedly. "Now most of you know me from the post office, but some of you know me from church where I lead the choir, and that's what I'm here to talk about today."

That's when Quinn realized what was different about the teacher; her hair was styled softer—the way she wore it to church on Sundays—instead of her usual, impossibly tight knot.

"What is music?" Schue continued. "But more importantly, what purpose does it serve? It lifts us up, it expresses a part of us that can't be expressed by simply talking or writing, and it brings us together. I was talking to Emma, Miss Pillsbury, and it seems that a lot of you are interested in the arts. We've decided that I'll be joining you every Monday and Friday to help teach you more than just words and dates and figures."

Several of the students clapped excitedly, including Brittany, who Quinn could see was nearly bouncing out of her chair. She could hear Rachel and Kurt's voices whispering excitedly from the back of the room. The room was practically vibrating with excitement.

"I'm not doing it," Puck announced.

"It's only twice a week and it is mandatory," Mr. Schuester answered.

"Then I won't be here," the mohawked boy grumbled. "I'm not here to sing a bunch a gospel songs."

"Why exactly are you here?" Mercedes chimed in. "I know you're not religious and all, but it won't kill you to sing a few hymns."

"We won't be singing hymns for this class," Will corrected. "I'd like to cover a variety of styles and composers. I'm sure everyone will get to experience something that speaks to them."

Puck rolled his eyes and Quinn smirked; it was all a show—like everything else the boy did. He hid behind his rough edges the way she herself hid behind soft smiles. The blonde fancied herself the only person who could truly see though his act. His family had been prominent once; his father worked in the bank for his in-laws and taken over when Puck's grandfather had died. Not long after that, the bank was robbed and Mr. Puckerman had disappeared. Most people in town felt it had been an inside job, but there was no proof, and since the boy's father had never had a good reputation, most of the townspeople took pity on the family left behind. His mother took what little they had left and opened a small bakery between the blacksmith and town hall. It wasn't a prosperous living, but they made by with Puck helping out at the Hudson ranch for a small fee. A lot had happened in the past few months, but as far as most could, tell the boy shrugged it off with little thought; he went out of his way to keep people at arm's length—no one could get too close and that was something Quinn understood all too well.

Puck caught her staring and gave her a sly wink, which she returned with an equally sly smile before turning her attention back to the class's discussion.

"All students thirteen and under will go with Emma outside for a sing-a-long. Students fourteen and up will stay here with me," William explained. "Today I mostly want to test everyone's range before pairing up for Friday's assignment."

The blonde shot Finn a bright smile; they sang together at church all the time and she knew they would do well on Friday. Other students were already protesting, many of them hoping they could get by with pretending to sing in the background, and she could distinctly hear Kurt and Rachel whispering excitedly from the back of the room. By the time Will had tested everyone's singing range, it was nearly time for class to be dismissed; he turned away and hastily pulled a scrap of paper from his pocket before turning back to the class.

"Alright, first off, good job everyone; I know some of you are worried about not being the strongest singers, but I promise with practice and the right songs, you will improve," he spoke over the groans of some of the students. "I'll be assigning partners and songs; the assignment is to perform these songs on Friday."

Quinn's fingers resolutely interlocked with Finn's as she waited to hear their name's called—it was inevitable; everyone knew they were a couple and they sang well together. Like everything else in her life, it seemed certain; as she glanced around the room, she felt sure that it was the only considerable option.

"So you and your partner will have all week to practice together whenever you have the time. Just have fun with it," William continued. "Kurt Hummel and Santana Lopez, you'll be singing I Gave My Love A Cherry. Mike Chang and Sugar Motta, Oh My Darling Clementine. Noah Puckerman and Finn Hudson, you get Beautiful Dreamer. Quinn Fabray and Rachel Berry will be singing Her Bright Smile Huants Me Still. Mercedes Jones and…"

Mr. Schuester's voice seemed to fade away as the blonde sat dazed; her stomach felt as though it had flipped over several times and she couldn't be sure if her mouth was hanging open or not. Finn flinched and complained as her grasp tightened on his hand.

"Sorry." She breathed as she loosened her grip quickly.

Emma was ringing the bell outside, but most of the students were still milling about the room; some of them chattering excitedly with their partners while others complained loudly about the people they had been paired with or the song given to them. Will made his way outside quickly, perused by a few begging students. Quinn was aware that Finn was talking to her, but she couldn't quite seem to focus. He was obviously excited; he loved singing and there were few chances to stand out in their little community.

"Maybe we'll sing together next time," he said cheerfully. "Besides, Rachel is really good and you're good…so it will be…you know…good. I can't wait to hear it Friday."

She narrowed her hazel eyes at him, but he didn't seem to notice; he gave her a light kiss on the forehead and bolted for the door since he was already a little late getting home. As she watched him leave, she saw Rachel standing at the door; it looked like the brunette might come over, but Quinn's sharp glare seemed to make her reconsider quickly.

"Tough break," Puck said as he took Finn's seat next to her.

"Finn doesn't seem to think so." She sighed. "He thinks it's a perfect match."

"Sure he does." The boy smiled slyly. "He's like a brother to me, but he's not the brightest."

Quinn gave him look of mock surprise. "Why would you say that?"

"'Cause he doesn't know you very well," Puck stated. "Or he doesn't pay attention. He doesn't notice much so he doesn't think you'll notice."

Her eyes narrowed again. "Notice what?"

"That he's kind of into Rachel." He shrugged. "Not that he'd do anything about it. Or that it even matters."

"No, he's not," she said, more assuring herself than him; she wanted off the subject desperately. "So you're saying Finn doesn't know me, but you do?"

"Yes," the boy said earnestly. "I pay attention. You and I both know that."

"And it doesn't bother you at all that you're his best friend and I'm practically engaged to him?" the blonde asked.

"Nope." Puck shrugged. "Mostly because you don't love him."

Quinn was about to protest before he locked her with a scrutinizing stare; she rolled her eyes and looked back towards the door.

"So you think I would love you? If it wasn't for Finn?" she tested.

"Oh I don't care if you would love me or not," he stated honestly as he stood up and stretched. "But if you're going to marry him, maybe you'd like to learn a few tricks on how to keep him interested. There are a lot of fine gals in town, I should know, and I'm up for after school tutoring…you know."

"Yeah, I know," she snapped. "But what makes you think I'd want to be another one of those fine gals?"

Puck shrugged. "Suit yourself, just offering to help. That Rachel is actually pretty good looking and she's got a nice voice; maybe I'll give that a try."

He headed for the door before calling over his shoulder. "I think I'll skip working on the ranch Wednesday; just stay in town and see what I can get into…"

Quinn rested her head against the cool surface of the desk; Rachel Berry was buzzing in her head and she was tempted to try smacking her skull against the smooth wood to get the brunette out of it. Just as she was thanking her lucky stars that she had a few moments alone to collect herself, she heard the shuffle of feet behind her. Her fists clenched; she was sure it much be Rachel waiting to pester her about their song and she was ready do let the girl have it. She spun around in her seat and was pleasantly surprised to see Santana standing there, peering down at her with a look of both misery and contempt.

"I'm…sorry," the girl forced out the words, "for hurting your feelings the other day."

"So Britt's making you apologize?" the blonde smiled up at her.

"Yeah…mostly…" Santana admitted. "So, there it is. I'm sorry that you're such a bitch that it makes me a bigger bitch back to you."

They stared at each other for a moment before the brunette turned on her heel and began to leave.

"You're right." Quinn choked. "San…I've been awful. So…I'm sorry too."

Before she really realized it, she found herself crying; not just for their lost friendship, but for everything—all the things about her perfect life that she hated. Santana stood gaping at her for a minute, obviously unsure of what to do, before reaching down to help Quinn up.

"Just…ok, we're fine," she muttered uncomfortably. "Geez, Fabray, don't fall apart so easily. I get it, okay? Your dad's an ass. So…we can just…it can be a secret, right? Like the books. Damn, Quinn, just stop crying already."

The blonde gasped a few times as she forced back her tears and shook her head; as much as she hated feeling weak, she actually felt a great sense of relief from her little break down.

"Alright…so…" Santana continued, "Britt's waiting outside. Want to walk home with us?"

Quinn nodded as she brushed the dampness off her cheek and followed the brunette outside. Brittany was instantly beaming and clapping seeing them together; she insisted the brunette walk between them so they could all talk easily.

"So, what did Puck want?" Santana asked suggestively.

"Just looking for more work around town…" Quinn lied quickly. "Hoping for an opening at the general store."

"Yeah…I'm sure," the brunette replied knowingly. "Been there, so has everyone else I think. Still…if you're getting bored with Finn…it might be a little bit of fun. For a while."

"Santana!" she snapped. "I don't like what you're implying. No girl in her right mind would stoop to that. At least not now that…you know."

"I wasn't implying anything," the girl shot back. "I was flat out saying you might have fun with a little roll in the hay. I wasn't saying you'd marry the guy."

"I don't see what the big deal is," Brittany chimed in. "Why wouldn't girls want to marry him now?"

"Because of his father—the whole bank thing." Quinn shrugged. "Baker is quite a step down from banker."

"But it's still dough, and he has more of it now." the other blonde continued. "I would think more people would be interested now."

Quinn rolled her eyes and let out a sigh; her friend really did seem to live in a world apart from the rest of them.

"Because it's sourdough, Britt," Santana said offhandedly.

Brittany nodded as though everything was suddenly clear to her. Quinn came to a sudden stop as she saw her father come out of the general store a few feet ahead of them. Brittany waved cheerfully while Santana shot Quinn a quick smile. The brunette turned suddenly towards the frozen blonde and gave her a professional looking nod.

"I'll make sure Mrs. Pierce knows to make the adjustments you wanted." She spoke loudly enough for Mr. Fabray to hear—then added quietly. "You owe me."

Quinn gave her a grateful nod before turning to go inside.

* * *

The blonde somehow managed to keep Rachel away for the next few days; either with hard stares from her hazel eyes or sharp words when the girl was bold enough to approach her. The brunette seemed to become more desperate and brave every passing day, and Quinn knew that they would have to practice the song at least once before Friday, but she was hoping it could be put off to a short rehearsal. Perhaps if she could avoid her long enough, the girl would complain to Mr. Schuester and they would both be reassigned partners. If the short girl was half as persistent with him as she had been for the past two days, he would have to give in. She couldn't shake what Puck had said on Monday as much as she wanted to, and it seemed that she suddenly noticed Finn casting backwards glances during class, equally as much she noticed his friend eyeing her from across the room. Quinn would roll her eyes and take Finn's hand, but it wouldn't cause the other boy to look away; instead he would gaze even more intently and give her a knowing little smile. She sighed; it was only Wednesday and the week already seemed unreasonably long. The blonde was ready to bolt the moment Miss Pillsbury excused them.

"Quinn," Rachel chimed from directly behind her. "We have to talk about the assignment. Now, I know you don't like me, but I feel that, considering Mr. Schue paired us together, I think we're just going to have to handle this professionally and…"

"Good lord you just can't take a hint can you, Berry?" Quinn instinctively snapped. "Nothing in this world is going to make me stand in front of class and sing with you. God, I just want you to disappear!"

The brunette shrunk back, gripping her stack of books protectively, and the blonde could see tears glimmering at the corners of her eyes.

"I…I…just don't see why you hate me so much." Her voice quivered. "I…maybe Mr. Schue will let me sing it alone..."

"Good idea," Quinn spat. "I'm fine with that."

"Quinn," Finn interjected. "You're not being fair. I don't know why you can't just give her a break. If you gave her a chance maybe…"

"What?" the blonde sputtered.

"You're being unfair; Rachel hasn't done anything to you. She's nice," he said with a little less conviction.

She stared him down while for a while before he did something he'd never done before; he walked away from her without saying goodbye. The blonde stared after him with her mouth agape.

"Well that wasn't pretty," Puck spoke loudly behind her.

"Shut up, Puck," Quinn spat before turning around and whispering quickly, "Meet me here tonight."

With that, she grabbed her books and stomped out of the school room.

As Quinn made her way to the small schoolhouse that night she, was starting to rethink her rash decision, but her anger and insecurity pushed her forward as though it were a living force. She quietly tested the door and was a little disappointed to find that it was unlocked, though it made sense; there was nothing in the little building that anyone would want to steal. Puck was already waiting for her; he dimmed the light from his lamp and leaned against the teacher's desk.

"I have to admit," he crooned, "I almost thought you might chicken out. I should know better than to doubt my natural appeal."

Quinn quickly crossed the room and shushed him before placing a shaky kiss on his lips. Nearly fifteen minutes later, she jerked to attention, hearing the sound of footsteps on the schoolhouse steps. She pulled away from the boy quickly as she rummaged for his shirt on the hard wooden floor; she threw it at him as fastened his belt quickly and bolted out an open window. She struggled to button the top of her dress as she heard a knock at the door. As she rushed to straighten the bottom of her dress, she accidentally knocked the lantern over; it shattered on the floor, spraying the area with glass and oil, and flames jumped quickly after the spilled fuel. Quinn backed away quickly, but the hem of her dress was already on fire and as she continued to scurry backwards in panic the fire seemed to feast on the paper debris that she inadvertently knocked from the desks. The blonde couldn't think straight; the room seemed to be filling with smoke unnaturally fast and she batted at the flames climbing her dress. Someone knocked her to the floor and was yelling at her to roll as they attempted to help smoother the flames. Suddenly she felt soft hands on her face as her rescuer tried to get her attention.

"Quinn…Quinn…we have to get out of here," Rachel spoke sharply. "I put out the fire on your dress, but whole building is on fire and I can't carry you. Can you walk?"

She nodded mutely and let the girl help her up; leaning heavily on the smaller girl as the left the building. The brunette eased her to the ground in front of the building.

"Are you okay? Did you get burnt?" Rachel asked nervously. "It didn't look like you did. What happened?"

The blonde gasped for air as she answered. "No…no I think I'm okay…it was an accident…I…what are you doing here?"

"I saw you go in." The brunette breathed a sigh of relief. "I was going to try one last time to get you to see reason. I thought maybe since Finn…but that doesn't matter. What happened in there?"

"I just." Quinn wheezed. "I left a book and I was coming to get it. I guess when I heard you come up the stairs I thought…I don't know…it just startled me." Her hazel eyes stared up at the girl who had just saved her life. "Thank you."

People were beginning to rush toward the building, calling the alarm, and preparing to put out the fire.

"Come with me." Rachel tugged at her. "We'll get you changed and my dad will check for sure that you're not injured."

Quinn followed Rachel timidly though the Alehouse's back door, giving one last look to the burning schoolhouse.

"I'm sorry," she said meekly.

"Don't be silly; everyone will understand it was an accident," Rachel assured her.

"I didn't mean…" Quinn said wearily. "I just mean…well, you know."

Rachel smiled and shrugged. "Practice the song with me for Friday and I'll call it even."

* * *

**Please continue to review; I appreciate any and all feedback. See profile for tumblr link. Beyond that feel free to PM or comment with questions as well as critiques or advice (though I request that critiques be specific so I can make actual adjustments and improvements). Thanks once again for reading.  
**


	4. Chapter 4: No Good Deed

**If you're still reading, thanks for sticking with me. *I don't own Glee or Glee characters* I hope the chapter is enjoyable.  
**

* * *

**No Good Deed**

The schoolhouse had not been saved and the smell of smoke and charred wood still lingered heavily in the air. Rachel wished it would rain and wash away some of the grime and stench. Quinn's singed dress still lay crumpled in the corner of her room; the girl had borrowed one of her dresses and returned home quickly. Mr. Fabray had even stopped by to thank the Berrys' for their help; though, the brunette swore she could still hear his seething dislike for them in the undertone of his grateful speech. However, Rachel still counted herself lucky to have a second chance at a friendship with the blonde now—not that she wouldn't have helped her otherwise.

The townspeople had nearly decided that classes would have to be canceled. With no place to hold lessons, it had been suggested that perhaps the courthouse could be used, but it was decided that students scurrying around would be too much of a disruption to legal matters. After a few hours of discussion, LeRoy and Hiram had decided to offer two of the empty rooms on the second story of the Inn for classes; the rooms had stairs on the outside of the building leading to them, so after assuring many of the parents that the students wouldn't have to enter the bar level of their establishment, it had been quickly agreed. Some of the townsfolk were still wary of the students being taught there, most of all the sheriff, whose dislike of her family seemed to grow a little each day, but they had no other options. Whatever issues people had would blow over in time—Quinn's father had already sent word that he was looking for a builder, and various business owners of New Lima were chipping in to help pay the costs.

Rachel couldn't help but wonder—if it had been anyone else but Quinn Fabray, would the town be so forgiving? The blonde had insisted on helping Miss Pillsbury organize the two moderately sized rooms and the brunette decided to help as well. She was enjoying spending time with the other girl when it didn't end in her crying or covered in fizzy beverage. As she watched her work and enjoyed light hearted conversation with her, the petite girl remembered why she had wanted to so badly to befriend her in the first place.

The two rooms were connected by an open archway; it was meant to be a suite for high paying customers. Since her fathers hadn't had the opportunity to decorate or even fully furnish the room yet, there wasn't much clutter to clear away before the few spare desks from the shed, along with several long tables and chairs, were carried in for them to arrange. By sunset, the bulk of their work was completed and Emma was shooing them out of the room, insisting they get enough sleep before tomorrow's class. Rachel made her way downstairs, to the office, and returned quickly with a spare key to the outer doors for her teacher.

To be honest, the brunette didn't expect Quinn to still be there when she came back into the hall. One day hadn't quite erased two weeks' worth of torture, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the blonde leaning against the railing as she looked down into the restaurant and bar area.

"You're still here," Rachel said brightly.

"I promised to practice with you for tomorrow," Quinn replied softly.

Rachel suddenly felt self-conscious; she'd never been afraid to sing in front of anyone, but, abruptly, butterflies started to flutter around in her stomach. The brunette wondered if maybe she had over worked herself today. The girl's hazel eyes were slightly red rimmed and it occurred to her that after the fire and today's work, on top of a possibly restless night, the blonde could be ill. After all, if she was feeling a little faint, what must Quinn be feeling?

"Are you sure you want to?" the petite girl asked. "You inhaled quite a bit of smoke last night. Do you feel well enough? Because you can damage your voice terribly if you're not careful about these things."

Quinn smiled as she straightened up and turned to answer her. "I feel fine. It's the least I can do. Really, if I were you, I'm not sure I would have risked my neck to save me."

"I think you would have," Rachel assured her with a smile.

The blond shrugged. "I can't help thinking…that maybe…you shouldn't have…"

"Don't say that!" The brunette gasped.

"But it's kind of true," Quinn insisted sternly. "Listen, if we're going to be friends, then you should know I don't apologize often so you should let me now. I've behaved awfully with you and the worst thing is…I'm not even completely sure why. I've been thinking about it since it happened and I still can't imagine why you would help me…let alone be so nice to me now."

Rachel stared at her intently; she was surprised. Two days ago she couldn't have imagined them being friends, let alone dreamed that the girl would be apologizing to her. She was equally taken aback that she wasn't enjoying it; one would think that watching the beautiful, and at times brutal, blonde agonize over her mistakes would be sweetly satisfying. All the brunette could think now was how much she wished Quinn felt better.

"Well, obviously you're worth saving," the brunette stated. "Please don't worry so much about it. If we're going to be friends, then it's best we simply start fresh."

The blonde gazed back at her as though she were speaking another language. Rachel gently patted her on the shoulder and gave her a bright smile.

"I insist on it. While it's true things were bad between us before, I truly want to be your friend," she said. "I forgive you and I really wish you would forgive yourself as well."

The other girl smiled and nodded. "I'll try then. Where should we practice?"

"I was thinking in the classroom," Rachel chirped. "That way we can really visualize what it will be like and get a feel for the acoustics of the room."

"Sounds good." Quinn chuckled.

The blonde glanced back down to the bar and Rachel saw her eyebrow arch and then furrow before she looked back up and backed away from the railing. The brunette peered down to where Quinn had been looking but nothing seemed odd. As she scanned the customers, she noticed Kurt standing next to his father at the bar; he waved excitedly and she waved back. Kurt was here pretty often, either visiting her or keeping an over anxious eye on Burt. The delicately featured boy motioned to Quinn, who now had her back against the railing, and made an expression and gesture that clearly meant - _what's she doing here? _

_It's ok_, Rachel mouthed to him before turning to follow the blonde into the makeshift schoolroom.

* * *

"You two did well today," Kurt stated casually from the ottoman.

"So did you," Rachel complemented back. "I really wasn't sure if yours and Santana's voices would work well together, but they did. Obviously Mr. Schue has very discerning instincts."

"I don't think instincts had much to do with it," the boy confided. "I think Miss Pillsbury asked him to pair certain people up."

Rachel frowned, pushed her sheet music aside, and rolled over on the bed to face him. "Why would they do that?"

"To help us accept each other through the magic of music," he said with a flourish. "Music is a powerful thing. but I doubt any about of singing will make Santana be nicer."

The brunette gave him a sympathetic smile. "How bad was it?"

Kurt shuddered and waved his hands as though trying to shoo away the bad memories. She giggled and he fixed her with a dramatically venomous look before laughing as well.

"Nothing worse than any other day." He shrugged. "Except louder and longer."

They hadn't known each other for long, but she could already see that, despite his theatrical antics, the boy was becoming deeply scarred by the constant bullying—not to mention the hiding. Kurt didn't exactly blend in, but most people in town attributed it to a combination of his mother's coddling treatment of him when she was alive and her untimely death. No one seemed to look far beyond that for answers; perhaps out of respect for Burt or perhaps because they didn't really want to know. Everyone knew he had taken over keeping the house in order and assumed that, if not for that, he would be learning his father's trade as a blacksmith—an image Rachel couldn't even imagine for him. That didn't stop the boys, or Santana, from torturing him daily in one way or another. She traced the stitching of the quilt she was laying on and pondered whether or not to broach the subject with him. After all, she was pretty sure, but didn't want to assume, and though she'd never confided in him about her fathers, she was fairly sure he knew.

"So how bad was it for you?" he asked, jolting her out of her daze.

"I'm sorry," she stammered. "What?"

"How awful was Quinn when you were practicing?" Kurt asked. "I saw you together Thursday. I gave her quite the scowl for you."

"Oh!" Rachel sat up quickly. "You didn't!"

"I wasn't alone," Kurt laughed, "your father did as well."

"Oh no." The girl moaned. "It was actually quite nice. She was nice. I really think we are going to be good friends now that we have a second chance."

"Ah," he responded with his quick little acknowledgement that had come to mean he thought she was being crazy.

"I mean it," the brunette stated. "Things really are different now."

The boy shrugged dismissively as she turned back around to face the mirror. She continued to stare, trying to watch his face in the reflection, before lying back on the bed with a sigh.

"I don't think you're right about Mr. Schue pairing us up that way. Lots of the partners get along perfectly fine. Finn and Puck are best friends; they don't have any issues with each other," she insisted—mostly because if he could be wrong about that, he could also be wrong about Quinn.

"They will if Finn ever catches on to the way Puckerman feels about Quinn," Kurt pointed out. "It's ridiculously obvious."

"Yes." Rachel sighed. "They were both definitely singing to Quinn today."

"Ridiculously obvious." He nodded.

"Did you sing to anyone in particular today?" she asked.

Kurt tensed before meeting her gaze in the mirror. "Maybe."

Before she could ask him anything else, the boy was up and walking to her wardrobe; as he opened the doors he asked, "Were you singing to anyone during your song?"

Rachel paused for a moment before answering. "Of course. To all my adoring fans."

He glanced back to give her a quizzical look.

"That I will have someday," she added.

"What is this doing in here?" Kurt inquired, pulling out Quinn's dress.

"I didn't know if she would want it back," the brunette defended. "I couldn't very well throw it out."

"Half of it's burnt away," he pointed out with a little disgust. "It was on fire, Rachel; it's making all your clothes reek."

"It is not," she argued, standing up to join him at the wardrobe, her nose wrinkling at the smell. "Alright, well, I just don't know what to do with it until Quinn tells me if she wants it back."

"Oh my god." He giggled. "She doesn't want it back. What could she possibly do with it?"

Rachel pried the dress out of his hands and hung it back up. "I don't know, but it's not polite to just throw other people's things away you know."

She huffed a little as he smirked at her. "Enough chit chat; come over here and help me sort out the sheet music like you promised. Mr. Schue's collection seriously needs updating and I want to have these ready for him by Monday."

* * *

Mr. Schuester gently declined Rachel's offer of new material on Monday, insisting that his collection was current enough, though he would definitely let her know if he ever changed his mind. The brunette returned to her seat unhappily and crossed her arms.

"Good news, class," William announced. "The Berrys' have offered to close bar sales for an hour on Fridays so that we can use their stage area to perform."

"That is…" Miss Pillsbury interjected nervously, "if all your parents agree to it. So please, please, please, remember to ask them tonight and let me know tomorrow."

Their new teacher handed out their music assignments quickly; this time, each song would be preformed by groups of three. Rachel was disappointed that she wasn't being paired with either Quinn or Kurt, who were both grouped with Finn this time. The brunette had been assigned with Mercedes and Puck, and though the boy's attitude intimidated her, she was eager to match her voice against the other girl's.

"That leaves Santana, Brittany, and Dave as the last group and they will be singing…" Mr. Schuester paused. "Where are Brittany and Santana?"

As Rachel looked around, she noticed the door to the back room was slightly ajar. The two friends must have snuck out into the hallway; it was anyone's guess how long ago.

"I'll go find them," the brunette volunteered hastily.

She had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as dashed down the hallway and around the corner, towards her room on the other end of the building. Though she was sure she remembered locking her door that morning very clearly, she couldn't shake the image of Santana snooping though her room. She could picture the two laughing over her diary easily in her head. She let out a sigh of relief when she found her door still locked and her room appeared untouched. Rachel turned quickly and began to head back to the classroom. She stopped abruptly when she heard muffled voices coming from one of the empty rooms. She rolled her dark brown eyes in irritation as she tossed open the door—only to find the room empty. Stepping inside, she listened carefully as she double checked her surroundings; just as she was about to give up, she heard more hushed chatter through the wall. The brunette quietly tiptoed out of the room and to the next door; once there, she threw open the door, ready to scold the girls for skipping class.

"You two should be…" Rachel began before gasping, "I…I'm sorry…"

The two brunettes stared at each other, frozen in shock, while Brittany continued to trace kisses down Santana's neck, seemingly oblivious. Rachel shook her head and began backing up quickly as Santana lunged forward and yanked her into the room; the other brunette slammed the door shut again.

"I'm sorry," the petite girl stammered. "You left class and they sent me to find you. I didn't…I wasn't...I didn't…"

"You didn't," Santana snapped. "And let me make this abundantly clear. You didn't see anything. You don't know anything and you're not going to say anything. You got that?"

Rachel straightened up and locked eyes with the intimidating girl.

"Of course I wasn't going to tell anyone," she insisted. "Unlike some people here, I have respect for others. I do know what I saw, Santana, but that doesn't mean that I have a problem with it or that I feel it's my business to tell."

"Oh," Santana snapped back, "you expect me to believe that you're just going to be quiet about it. Why? Because we're best friends? Because I've been so nice to you? I'm not stupid."

"This never would have happened if hoopskirts were still in style…" Brittany mumbled in the background.

Both girls glanced at her momentarily; Santana's face etched with fear, presumably for the blonde's reputation—what hope did the simple girl have if the world that was so accepting of her unique outlook on life turned against her? Rachel sighed as she looked at the two girls.

"You're not stupid, I know that," the smaller brunette continued. "But what you fail to take into account is that I'm not like you. I'm not constantly looking for ways to take someone else down or push people away. True, you've never been kind to me, and yes, you're appalling to my friend Kurt, but two wrongs don't make a right and I'm not going to use something like this to punish you. If nothing else it explains why you're so…"

"So what?" the brunette spat harshly. "Such a bitch?"

"…snappish," Rachel stated smoothly. "It's not a good excuse mind you, but it does make sense."

"I'm still not seeing what's keeping you from blabbing to anyone who will listen about what you think you saw," the other girl flared. "You don't want to know what will happen if you do, either."

The girl grunted in irritation. "Why can't you just accept that I'm not trying to be your enemy on this?"

"Because I'm not stupid!" Santana practically snarled.

Brittany was at the brunette's side in seconds. tracing a calming hand across the girl's back, and shooting Rachel a pleading glance. The brunette didn't know what to do; Santana was determined not to trust anyone it seemed, aside from her blonde lover, and Rachel did not relish the thought of what the aggressive girl's wrath would be like. She fixed her brown eyes on Brittany's face, hoping for a hint or some help on the subject. The thought of easing the other brunette's mind by confiding her own secret came to mind, but that option nearly instantly set her nerves on end—at least she could sympathize with Santana's fear and unwillingness to trust. There was nothing in the past few weeks that made her feel she could trust her, and her fathers' safety with someone so willing to be hard and ruthless on a daily basis. It was frustrating that the very thing that might bind them together would be the same thing to impede their trust.

"Rachel won't tell," Brittany soothed in her girlfriend's ear. "I'm sure of it."

"Sweetie," Santana groaned, "I know you want to trust everyone and you think that everyone is good deep down, but this is big. It's a big deal and I just don't know…"

"I was right about Quinn," the blonde pointed out cheerfully. "And I know you think that you can't trust people, but I'm right and you know I'm right."

Tears were welling up in Santana's eyes and she shook her head while Brittany wrapped her arms around her. Rachel fidgeted uncomfortably and was about to try to assure the girls once again that she wouldn't dream of telling, but Santana silenced her with a glare and a wave of her hand before she could speak.

"What if Rachel promises not to tell if you promise to be nicer to Kurt," the blonde chirped. "You said yourself that if you didn't know better, you'd say they were dating. Though I would totally miss all the funny things you say to him, I'd be willing to give that up if it will make you trust her more."

"I'm not trying to make any deal or…or…" Rachel sputtered. "I'm not blackmailing you…I really wish you would just believe me when I say that I would never, never, ever tell someone something so private and personal, no matter whose secret it was."

"I'll give you Wednesdays," Santana spoke abruptly. "Because there's no way that I can go easy on him all the time. That's not even humanly possible."

Rachel rolled her eyes; obviously she wasn't going to convince the girl to trust her and she had to admit that Kurt could use any break he could get from being abused, but it still felt wrong to let the girl think she was holding something over them. She resented the idea that Santana was going to treat this like a hostage negotiation simply to feel more secure about it. That seemed to be the way it was going to happen, however, and the brunette would have to accept that at least some added bonus would come out of it.

"Fine." Rachel sighed. "If that's what it takes for you to believe that won't tell, which I wasn't going to do in the first place, then fine."

"Good," Santana said with a smirk as she pushed the door open. "Then we have a deal. Get out."

"But class isn't over," the girl protested as the other brunette pushed her out of the room. "What am I supposed to tell them if I come back without you?"

"That you didn't find us." Santana rolled her eyes. "Did your mom drop you on your head before she died?"

Rachel stood gaping as the girl slammed the door in her face. She wanted to protest that the inn wasn't their private playground, but she decided to cut her losses and return to class. She scurried down the hallway and back into the classroom.

"Well they aren't here," she said apologetically as she took her seat.

"I'll tell Britt when I see her," Quinn offered as she gave Rachel a quizzical look. "She'll tell Santana."

Mr. Schuester shrugged and continued his discussion on the songs everyone would be singing. The blonde continued to study her and Rachel was beginning to feel that the girl's hazel eyes were peering directly into her and reading her thoughts. She smiled unsteadily and tried to pay attention to their teacher, but Quinn wasn't the easiest person to ignore. It seemed like her soft brown eyes were constantly drawn to the girl unless she was concentrating on looking elsewhere.

When class was dismissed, Rachel saw the blonde making her way to them and was suddenly having second thoughts about how well she could keep her promise to Brittany and Santana if Quinn decided to question her. Something about the other girl seemed to compel her to share everything; something in her smile and eyes made it hard to resist the urge to trust and know her—and to let her know you.

"You were out of class for quite a while," the blonde pointed out.

"Well," the brunette lied, "it's a big place. I had to look through all the rooms."

"Did you check the bar?" Quinn asked.

"No," Rachel replied. "But they certainly wouldn't have tried; my dad would never serve them with everyone so nervous about classes being held here to start with; he would have just sent them…"

The brunette stopped abruptly and blushed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," the blonde agreed. "If they went downstairs your dad or uncle would have sent them back up."

"But it can be pretty busy down there," Rachel covered quickly. "They could have just slipped outside without people noticing."

"Maybe." Quinn shrugged. "San and Britt love the singing assignments. It's all Brittany talks about lately; I don't know why they decided to skip out today."

"I don't know," The brunette said numbly.

"They spend all their time together as it is," the blonde continued. "Between class and with Santana working at the dress shop, but they never seem to get tired of hanging out. Guess that's what being best friends means; I like San, but I could never spend that much time with her without wanting to ring her neck and Britt's great, but I can't even say I'd want to spend every waking moment with her, either."

Rachel remained silent as she studied Quinn's face; she couldn't figure out if the blonde was fishing for clues or just feeling left out.

"But the three of you spend a lot of time together don't you?" the brunette tested.

"Some. More with Britt than San," she answered. "Guess I'm just being a little jealous. I don't have anyone I want to spend all my time with like that."

Rachel wanted to ask, _not even Finn_, but that seemed like it might steer the conversation dangerously off the friendship discussion and onto a more romantic train of thought. She was lucky that the conversation had turned away from that kind of thinking—it made it easier for her not to let anything slip.

"I don't know," Quinn continued. "Maybe there's something wrong with me; I just don't seem to connect with people the way I should."

"What?" Rachel gasped. "You are the most popular girl in the entire town. You're friends with nearly everyone and everyone else wishes you would."

"It's not the same thing." The blonde sighed. "I just feel like I'm missing out on something—like I'm just too cold to really be close to anyone."

"Don't say that," the brunette insisted. "Yes, you have a hard side sometimes, but I know that you have a warm, kind, beautiful heart."

"In the course of a weekend, you've discovered all that?" Quinn asked.

"Well…" she blushed again, "yes. Why would you think that about yourself?"

The blonde shook her head and looked away from Rachel. "I don't know. Something happened recently and it just wasn't what I thought it would be and it…made me wonder."

"What happened?" she asked, her brown eyes growing suddenly worried.

"I…probably shouldn't talk about it…not yet…" the blonde said, keeping her eyes fixed ahead of her.

"Maybe I could help. If it's something that's bothering you," Rachel insisted. "Maybe you would feel better if you just talked it out."

The girl's hazel eyes met hers for a moment and the blonde sighed. "Maybe you're right, but…"

"Rachel," LeRoy called from the other end of the hallway. "I need your help downstairs for a little while. Okay?"

Quinn jumped, but then quickly smiled. "It's not important."

Before the brunette could protest, the girl had said goodbye and ducked back into the classroom and out the door to the stairs. Rachel's eyebrows furrowed and she sighed before turning to follow her father down to the first floor. Hiram was eyeing her from the bar and she realized that he probably saw her and Quinn speaking in the hallway; he was still none too happy that she had chosen to trust the girl as a friend after the way she had treated her before.

"I was about to head to the tailor's to pick up some bolts that came in today," LeRoy said. "I thought you would like to come along—maybe help me turn them into curtains when we get back."

"Sounds like a plan." Rachel smiled.

She knew that most likely Hiram had sent him to get her, to stop her from talking with Quinn. It was no secret that, aside from the blonde's previous actions, her father's were wary of Mr. Fabray; though he was polite to them in person, it was no secret that he disliked them. Rachel was sure that, in time. he would forgive Quinn and grow to like her; how could he not? LeRoy was much more understanding on the issue, though he warned her to be careful and ease into the friendship, he seemed more willing consider that the girl was truly sorry.

"Hold up there a moment," Sheriff Sue called as they left the Alehouse.

"Ah," LeRoy tried to sound cheerful, "Sheriff Sylvester, how can we help you?"

The woman scowled and stepped up onto the sidewalk. "I just have a few questions about your bizarre little family and how excited you were to offer a place for classes in your utterly atrocious business."

She held up a hand before they could interrupt. "Oh, we're all so grateful that you found it in your heart to open your home to every snot nosed, slack jawed child our little community has to offer, but I can't very well ignore the fact that your…niece…was seen entering the schoolhouse mere minutes before it went up in flames."

"Yes, and she saved the life of the girl who set it, unintentionally, but admittedly," he said evenly.

"Well, Miss Fabray was panicked and I hear she and your daughter have started an ill-considered friendship; perhaps she's coving for Rachel," Sue continued.

"I don't appreciate you accusing my…" LeRoy flared.

"Niece?" the sheriff said callously. "I've heard all about your family's quant little story, but I'm not sure I buy all of it, uncle LeRoy. What is your last name?"

"Berry," her father answered tensely.

"Now, I thought you were related by marriage, isn't that the story? Your sister was married to this little nuggets father. So how is it that you have the same last name? It would explain a lot about her; inbreeding has been known to cause all manner horrible deformities, but you two don't exactly look related."

LeRoy swallowed hard and Rachel wasn't sure what he would do if Miss Sylvester pushed him any further.

"Our name is the same," he replied coldly. "Because until after the war, my family didn't have a name; his family were good people—kind people. So when he married my sister, I took their name too. Because I wanted to be part of a family of honest, smart people who weren't blinded by hate and ignorance—people who didn't conceder you less or deficient because of how you were born. Do you know what that's like? I'll bet you don't. Someone like you, you probably don't even know anyone who's been judged, looked down on, treated like a deficient…"

"I'm gonna stop you right there," Sue interrupted before falling silent again.

The sheriff turned on her heel and rushed across the street, disappearing into her office. Rachel breathed a sigh of relief and placed a warm hand on her father's arm.

"I'm fine," LeRoy said as he patted her hand. "Are you ok, dear?"

"I'm alright," She said with a nod.

"Still feel like going with me to get those bolts?" he asked.

* * *

"So whenever Quinn gets here," Kurt said as he wound up on of the little music boxes from Rachel's collection, "are you going to finally ask about that dress?"

Rachel put down her hairbrush and turned away from the mirror to face him. "Good Lord, Kurt, you're being obsessed."

"If you say so, Miss Kettle." Jer friend laughed.

"Let's just change the subject. Are you excited to sing with Quinn and Finn? You certainly seemed pleased yesterday," Rachel said as she turned back to the mirror and began brushing her hair again.

"I'd rather talk about how your uncle sent Sheriff Sylvester packing; word has it that was real entertainment." He chucked as he sat down on the bed.

"I'm sure it was," the brunette sighed, "just not to the people actually involved."

"I thought it was just Sue being her regular insulting self. We're all used to that." Kurt shrugged. "No one's ever managed to shut her up before, so I assumed it went well for you."

"Going well and ending well is not the same thing." Rachel sighed again. "But I suppose it went better than it might have gone."

"What was she saying anyway?" the boy asked.

"She thinks she knows something about my family," she admitted. "Or at the very least, she was trying to find something."

"Oh." Kurt exhaled.

Rachel studied him for a moment. His response wasn't very reassuring; it made her feel like lots of people had questions about it.

"Is there any reason that people should be so curious about my family?" she asked nervously. "Why is everyone so sure there is some ulterior conspiracy about it?"

"Not everyone," her friend assured her.

The brunette left the vanity and sat next to him on the bed. "Kurt, who were you singing to last Friday?"

"Why are you so interested in that?" He groaned defensively. "I said maybe—that wasn't even a yes; maybe I was making it up."

"No, you weren't," she insisted. "You were looking at the same two people the whole time."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Kurt began to protest as she stared him down. "Fine, I like Quinn, you happy?"

"No, you don't." Rachel shook her head.

"Of course I do." His voice pitched. "Why do you say that?"

"Because even when you said her name now, you had that tone,"sShe stated.

"What tone?" he asked. "I didn't have a tone, you're being insane."

"That tone you get that sounds like you are talking about something disgusting. Every time you say her name, you sound like you're being forced to shovel manure," Rachel explained. "That's not the sound of love and desire—I would know. I really want to trust you with something, Kurt, but I can't do that without being absolutely sure that you're being honest with me and that you trust me as well. I'll admit I have wondered since I met you, but I didn't want to make any undue assumptions—but then I watched you sing and I feel it's very clear."

The boy was shaking a little as he nodded his head; Rachel quickly placed an arm around his shoulders. He wouldn't look at her, but he didn't try to push her away either.

"He's not my uncle," the brunette whispered. "I think you knew that, or at least that you suspected it."

He nodded again as she continued. "My fathers moved to New York after they met and opened an Alehouse there. When one of their singers became pregnant, they decided it was time to start another business, in Ohio, and they took her with them. After I was born, they gave her the business in New York and they kept me. I never knew her; she left a month after I was born, and my dads and I have been a family ever since. It's not easy; we've had to move several times since then because people find out, so I know a little about hiding."

She had hoped her speech would cheer him up a little, but he only seemed to become more upset; tears began to spill over his cheeks and his breath came in little sobs.

"I…" Rachel fumbled. "I thought you would feel better, knowing you're not alone."

"Feel better?" Kurt's voice broke as he spoke. "I've always dreamed of going to New York and you're telling me it's not any better there. I feel like all this time I've had this foolish dream; like if I could just make it there, I'd find a place, find someone, and have a real life. But you're saying it's the same everywhere—that I'm always going to be hiding and this never gets better."

"Kurt," the brunette soothed. "They move for me. I'm not going to say it's perfect out there; my dads never said they were welcomed with open arms or celebrated, but people knew. They just chose to look the other way and that left my fathers free to live a happy life. but they wanted more; they wanted me, and so we've moved so that I wouldn't have to suffer. I've tried to convince them to move back to New York, but they are afraid that once the old customers see them, and me, they will realize what happened and they promised her that they'd never let anyone find out."

"Ok." He nodded. "So you're saying it's still a magical, perfect place, that I could go and be myself."

"Perfect? No. I'm sorry, but I have to be honest. It's better, though; people aren't as determined to know as they seem to be everywhere else," she said before adding brightly. "Magical? Definitely."

Kurt dried his eyes and straightened up, forcing a smile while he collected himself. "So, do your dads know you were going to tell me?"

"I told them what I thought," she admitted. "But no, they don't know yet."

The sound of a ruckus outside interrupted their conversation; they left her room and stepped out the door to the balcony. Sheriff Sue and a handful of parents and business owners, including Mr. Fabray, had gathered in front of the Alehouse. Rachel could hear Hiram's voice coming from the porch. Though she and her friend had come in on the situation in the middle, they could gather that Miss Sylvester had shared her theory—that the fire had been planned so that the Berrys could curry favor, by opening their doors to the students, with several people around town. Rachel and Kurt glanced at each other nervously.

"What's going on here?" a familiar voice asked. "Dad, what's this all about?"

"Nothing, Quinnie, go on back home; the grownups can handle this," her father said smoothly.

"I was just on my way to visit Rachel," Quinn continued. "Did I hear right? You all think that they had something to do with the fire? How can you think that after I clearly told you exactly what happened?"

"I got a chance to explain to your father," Sue chimed in, "about how trauma and shock can sometimes cause girls to go through a kind of hysteria. I simply explained that maybe you were remembering things differently than they actually happened; perhaps a little nicer, cleaner, than the horror you actually experienced."

"It makes sense dear," Russell said smoothly.

Rachel watched Quinn's face flicker briefly with anger before turning to stone. The blonde's voice was steady and clear when she spoke.

"The only thing they are responsible for is saving my life," She announced. "They've been nothing but kind and forgiving to me, and nothing but generous to give up their best room for us to use for class."

Quinn looked up at Rachel and smiled brightly. "We might not all agree about their business, but I think we can all agree that we owe them a little gratitude for opening their home to the good of the town. I know I do."

The crowd was beginning to disperse already, no doubt feeling foolish, and even Mr. Fabray was looking as though he were having second thoughts.

"Dad, you know me," Quinn said sweetly. "Do you really believe I would make something this important up?"

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and shot the Sheriff a look of disgust before placing a light kiss on his daughter's forehead. With no one supporting her, the sheriff shrugged and made her way back across the street to her office, where she continued to glare from behind her desk at the window. As they walked back down the street together, the blonde looked over her shoulder at the brunette and smiled.

* * *

**Thanks again for reading and feel free to leave feedback. :) For random images, updates, and info check out the tumblr link on my profile. (Sick of hearing about tumblr yet?)  
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	5. Chapter 5: Wouldn't It Be Loverly

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thanks for sticking with the story so far. All of your comments have been inspiring to me and really keep me going even in crunch time. Also I hope you've all had Happy Holidays.  
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* * *

**Wouldn't It Be Loverly?**

Quinn sat at her desk and stared blankly down at the empty page in front of her; she was meant to be writing a letter to her sister, but instead, she was gazing off into space and listening to the clock tick from across the room. A letter had arrived from Frannie that evening and her parents had encouraged her to read it aloud to them; it was the same prattle as always—how quickly the twins were growing and their oldest son's latest achievements, the newest piece of furniture purchased and how well it complemented the living room, and questions about her suitor Mr. Hudson. Her mother had cheerfully insisted she write back straight away to answer. As Quinn stared at the sheet, quill poised in her hand, she realized there wasn't much to say about Finn. The blonde couldn't seem to muster the appropriate excitement to reply in kind to her sister.

_There has to be something wrong with me_, she thought, _Frannie is more excited about her new Victorian settee than I am about the man I'm going to marry_. She simply couldn't think of anything to write that her sister would be interested in hearing about. Quinn felt sure that she could have filled a book with her feelings about singing in class, the book she had just finished and secreted to Brittany's house, and her new and unexpected developing friendship, but none of those things would matter to her older sibling. In fact, a letter like that would most likely cause the happy homemaker to write a private letter to her parents; it would bring everything the young girl held dear into a blinding and unforgiving spotlight.

Quinn dropped the quill back into the ink bottle and rested her head desk with a sigh; she wanted to ask her sister so many things, or ask anyone, about her feelings and what they meant. Why wasn't she happy?

"How's the letter coming along?" her father asked, his voice seeming unnaturally loud in comparison to the gentle ticking of the clock. "If you're done I can send it out tomorrow with the stock orders."

Quinn sat up and collected her thoughts before turning. "Not yet. I've had such a headache today; I think I will finish it tomorrow. I can send it myself on the way to class."

Russell leaned in the doorway; there were two doors to her room, one connected to the laundry room—from there she could go outside or back into the hallway—and the other connected directly to her parent's bedroom. It always made her uneasy when her father would suddenly appear through the adjoining room without a knock or any other sound to alert her; it felt more invasive, more like he was trying to catch her at something, though she always assured herself that there was no reason to think that.

"I have a letter to send to them myself," he insisted. "Best to send them at the same time, so just leave the letter on my desk in the study whenever you finish it."

"Alright." Quinn nodded, keeping her smile bright.

"Is this what you're going to wear tomorrow?" her father asked, pointing at the dress hung on the front of her wardrobe.

"Yes," the blonde answered. "It's one of the new ones."

Russell crossed the room and caressed the fabric between his fingers; pale pink silk on the sleeves and layers over an even lighter satin fabric. "It's a bit fancy for school, isn't it? I know you're excited about wearing it, but Sunday is only a few days away."

"Oh, tomorrow is one of the singing days," the blonde explained.

The sleeves were short and puffed with sheer layers that looked like overlapping petals; all the edges were trimmed in the same silk from the sleeves and the skirt hung loose with several layers of sheer over the satin. It was much more elegant than anything she would normally wear to class; she was always well styled, but for school, she usually stuck to well-tailored cotton. but something about knowing she would be on stage made her want to stand out even more. This dress looked the way she felt when she sang; light, soft, and somehow slightly otherworldly.

"Well you'll only be singing for a few minutes." Russell shrugged. "I'm not sure it's appropriate for class. Have you asked your mother about it?"

"I will," Quinn promised.

"Well hurry on and do that," he said cheerfully. "Dinner is almost ready."

The blonde stood up and waited at the laundry room door, but her father didn't move; she smiled, feeling lucky that she had just dropped her latest book off at her friend's house, and rested her hand on the doorknob.

"You go on ahead and help your mother," her father instructed softly, still eyeing the dress. "I'll join you both soon."

Quinn nodded as she left her bedroom and headed for the kitchen; Judy greeted her cheerfully and handed her a dish of peas to carry out to the table.

"Mom," she began cheerfully. "I was just showing Dad my new dress. I'm thinking of wearing it tomorrow."

"The new one?" her mother repeated curiously. "Why?"

Without a moments hesitation she batted her hazel eyes. "We're singing tomorrow and Mr. Schuester requested we dress formally."

Judy placed steaming slices of freshly baked bread into a basket and followed her daughter into the dinning room.

"Why would he want all the students dressed up all day long for a few minutes of singing?" her mother pondered aloud.

"I'm not sure. The songs we are singing are patriotic; perhaps he feels it's the respectful thing to do," Quinn continued her lie. "But I don't mind if you think I should wear one of my other dresses. I'm just concerned that I might stand out."

"Well of course if your teacher thinks it's the patriotic thing to do." Judy smiled. "I don't see why not. Though, I don't think Mr. Schuester is thinking very clearly—I imagine most of your classmates will ruin their best clothes by the end of the day."

"It's only the older students," she assured her mother.

"Well, I suppose that makes more sense." The older woman nodded as they carried the last of the dinner to the table.

"Did we reach a decision about the dress?" her father asked casually as he entered the room and sat down.

"We have," Judy chimed as she poured him a glass of water.

"I'm not sure I like this singing class your school has started," Russell commented after prayer.

Her fork clattered against the plate for a moment and Quinn quickly swallowed her bite of food.

"Why is that?" she asked.

"I was looking over some of the sheet music you brought home." Russell began. "Why doesn't he have you singing gospels or hymns?"

"Oh," Quinn shrugged, "he will. Right now I think he just wants to get some of the less religious students interested, but I'm sure we will have some soon. Everything we sing is wholesome, though."

"Oh yes," Judy chirped. "I heard her practicing the other day and it was lovely. You're turning into such an accomplished lady, Quinn. Last Sunday your singing turned quite a few heads in church."

The blonde blushed as both her parents beamed at her. "Thank you."

"Well I suppose it's alright" her father begrudgingly conceded.

"Do you need help?" Quinn volunteered, hoping to keep on their good sides.

With another beaming smile from her father, she followed her mother into the kitchen to retrieve the desert.

* * *

Quinn fidgeted nervously as she waited at the bottom of the stairs for their teachers to arrive; she'd barely slept the night before and had gotten up much earlier than necessary and was ready long before she normally left for class. The blonde paced back and forth along the sidewalk, the heels of her shoes clicking softly with each step, as she watched the road towards the parsonage where Miss Pillsbury lived with the Jones'.

"Quinn?" a voice sounded behind her, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to startle you. I was on my way to get breakfast when I saw you through the window. You're here awfully early."

The blonde smiled and nodded to Rachel, who also seemed completely ready for the day rather early.

"Would you like something to eat before class?" Rachel offered.

"Oh, I," Quinn shook her head as her stomach growled a little, she had completely forgotten to eat this morning, "no. That's fine. I wouldn't want to…I mean…you don't have to."

"Don't be silly." The brunette smiled as she took the girl's hand and tugged her inside. "I was just about to make a simple breakfast. It wouldn't be any trouble at all. Besides, I've been meaning to thank you for standing up for us the other night, so it's truly the least I can do."

Rachel continued to guide her through the dining and bar area, past the small stage area to the right, and into the kitchen. Quinn offered to help, but the brunette wouldn't hear of it and, instead, directed her to a chair at a large table and insisted she relax and wait to be served. Her hazel eyes followed the petite girl as she scampered excitedly around the kitchen, setting water to boil on the stove before disappearing into the pantry and returning with the necessary supplies. The brunette made long winded small talk as she sliced apples and arranged them neatly on two plates, adding a boiled egg to each plate after they were finished and cooled. She added a small amount of honey to the hot tea and set the meal in front of the blonde before sitting down to join her. Quinn sniffed the drink skeptically before taking a tentative sip.

"Do you like it? Warm tea and honey are very good for the voice. It's important to eat before a performance, but it's best to keep it a light meal. I did boil more eggs if you want more, however," Rachel explained.

"No this is fine and the tea is very good." Quinn found herself almost giggling. "Thank you."

"I love your dress," the brunette gushed. "It suits you and your hair is lovely. The style is so intricate; I wouldn't even know how to attempt it myself."

The blonde felt her cheeks warming inexplicably. She was used to complements, but for some reason, they seemed more genuine coming from the other girl—or maybe it was just that she didn't feel she deserved kind words from Rachel after treating her so badly before. The brunette looked at her so intently, without a hint of scrutiny, unlike the rest of her peers; Quinn didn't get the feeling that the petite girl was looking for a flaw the way she often felt with other people. It was nice to spend time with someone and not feel like she had measure up to any list of requirements.

"I like the way you do your hair better," she confided. "But thank you."

"Really?" Rachel questioned. "I have to admit, I've spent quite a few hours, without success, trying to recreate some of your hairstyles."

The blonde's eyebrow arched as she looked more intently at the other girl.

"I'm sorry," the brunette sputtered. "Maybe I should have asked you first. I haven't had many female friends."

"Oh no," Quinn answered. "I just really think it suits you best that way. If you really want to pin it up, though, I could help. If you want."

The brunette smiled and finished the last of her apple slices before clearing away their plates.

"I'd like that," Rachel said cheerfully.

They could hear the shuffle of feet on the outside stairs and the sound of the upstairs door open and close. Quinn hopped up from the chair and tried to help clear the cups off the table, but the brunette playfully batted her hand away and carried them to the sink. The blonde made her way to the door and waited for Rachel to join her; the two made their way up the stairs and into the school room. A few others were already there and their teacher looked around the room a little bewildered at all the early comers, obviously more used to setting up for the day in privacy and having to call her students in and wait for stragglers. The blonde was glad to see that she wasn't the only one eager to sing; many of her classmates complained about the mandatory performances, and she smirked as she took note that many of the people in the room were the very ones to protest when in a group. Puck shrugged as she gave him a knowing look, but when he stood up to come over, she looped her arm through Rachel's tightly and tugged her in the opposite direction, leaving him gaping behind them and they made their way to the other side of the room.

She wasn't ready to speak to him; she'd only talked to him once since the fire and that was to tell him briefly what had happened and to make it clear that she wanted nothing more to do with him. The mohawked boy had tried nearly everything to get her alone; he had even threatened to tell Finn out right, but Quinn knew better—he wouldn't risk losing his work on the ranch or his best friend. So, she kept her distance and maintained the cold shoulder without fail, no matter what he tried.

Class seemed to crawl by as the students waited for Mr. Schuester to arrive. Quinn did her best not to fidget as the minutes seemed to tick by like hours. Finally, the blonde heard the creak of the outside stairs, signaling the arrival of their music teacher, and her heart began to flutter; she had been so excited to sing, but now that the moment was drawing close, she felt butterflies in her stomach as her nerves seemed to wake up to worry her. She instinctively reached for Finn's hand and squeezed; he looked over at her with a sappy smile, making it clear to her that he didn't realize she was nervous. The blonde glanced back to Rachel in the back row, who was poised on the end of her seat with a bright smile on her face. When the brunette noticed her hazel eyes on her, she gave her a reassuring smile and mouthed "you'll be great". As Quinn turned her head, she saw both Santana and Puck giving her nearly identical looks of confusion; she shrugged and her secret friend smirked.

Miss Pillsbury opened the door and coughed a little as Mr. Schuester walked in, followed by a young man.

"Class," William began. "We have a guest with us today; the mayor heard about our choir and thinks it's a nice idea, so his son, Blaine, is going to listen to us perform and if he's interested, he may join us. So, I want you all to make him feel at home and welcome."

The room suddenly began to hum with whispers; everyone knew about Blaine Anderson, the mayors son, but few people ever saw him. The mayor, though wealthy, was a very easy going man, but his wife was much more old fashioned. She believed that wealth associated with wealth and that the upper class shouldn't mingle with people below their station. That is to say, just because a family had money, didn't make them high class; if a family worked for their living, they were still below her breeding. Because of this mode of thinking, her son was privately tutored in their home and was rarely allowed to associate with what she considered the common people, which pretty much covered every student in the classroom. Even Quinn's family had never been invited to the Mayor's house, though Mr. Anderson sometimes accepted invitations to dine that their home, and she had only met his son once or twice in passing. There were all kinds of rumors that circulated about the boy; many of the students believed he was sickly or feeble or deformed and that was the real reason he was never seen walking down the streets of the town. Now, everyone was staring at Blaine, jaws hanging open, and scrutinizing the boy as he stood uneasily at the front of the room; he didn't look any of the things that they'd heard about him. Quinn could hear Rachel questioning Kurt in hushed tones about what the fuss was about, but she didn't seem to be getting any answers from her flabbergasted friend.

"Well, hello…everyone," Blaine spoke. "I'm very much looking forward to hearing you all perform and getting to know all of you."

The room was still buzzing as Emma greeted him kindly, and continued to buzz after she cleared her throat several times and asked the students to quiet down.

"Everyone just settle," Mr. Schuester called and the older students hushed immediately. "Now, you young ones go with Miss Pillsbury and we will get ready to go downstairs."

"That is," their nervous teacher interjected, "if all of your parents agreed. So, I just need a show of hands for everyone whose parents don't object."

Hands shot up all over the room, including Quinn's, though the blonde was pretty sure half of the class was lying—just like her. Most of them most likely hadn't even asked their parents; she certainly hadn't since she already knew how he would feel about it. She'd reasoned that it didn't matter anyway; he would never step foot in the alehouse and it would have only made him angry for no reason. After all, they weren't going to be serving any alcohol during the performance, so there didn't seem to be a reason to bring it up and risk him pulling her from the choir all together. The only hand not up was Mercedes, who looked around the room dejectedly as other students glared at her; she looked miserable.

Mr. Schuester sighed. "Well, I promised we wouldn't use the stage unless everyone's families were okay with it, but that's fine. Everyone get with your groups and I'll be right back. I'm going to let Mr. Berry know we won't be needing them to shut down the bar."

"Wait!" Mercedes belted out, raising her hand quickly. "Actually, my parents are fine with it, Mr. Schue."

"Well…" Miss Pillsbury stammered. "Well then why didn't you raise your hand."

"I…" the girl hesitated. "I was distracted. I thought you said to raise your hand if they'd said no."

Quinn gave the girl a quick smile; there was no way the Reverend Jones and his wife were fine with their daughter setting foot downstairs, but she was grateful the girl was risking it. Mercedes smiled back and kept her hand up as they all waited to see if their teacher was convinced.

"Alright then," Emma said happily. "Children with me. Careful on the stairs; no pushing."

Everyone shuffled down the stairs excitedly and split into their groups of three; Blaine took a seat at the table nearest the stage and tried to look at ease, though the blonde could easily recognize his hidden discomfort. No one was speaking to him; it was as though he had an invisible barrier around him and no one was so much as stepping within two feet of him, though they still whispered and shot glances at him, and he was obviously feeling left out. Quinn nodded to him and he smiled, quickly standing back up and making his way over.

"Hello," he began. "Quinn, is that right? I think we've met before."

"Once or twice," she nodded, "but we didn't really get to talk."

"Your group is singing second, right?" Blaine asked. "I'm very excited. I hope my parents let me join; it would be nice to not be stuck inside all week."

"Well, I hope you get to join us too." She smiled.

"I don't think anyone else here does, though." He sighed. "They all look at me like…"

"Like you have a tail or some rare disease?" the blonde finished for him. "Just ignore it. Before you know it, they'll be falling over themselves to make friends with you."

Blaine gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged. Finn looked over at them and motioned for Quinn to join him; instead, she motioned him and Kurt over and refused to move from the dark haired boy's side. Finn stared at her slack jawed for a moment before the more delicate boy standing next to him rolled his eyes and tugged at his elbow, prodding him forward until they joined her.

"Finn, have you welcomed Blaine yet?" Quinn said pointedly, hoping to guide him a little.

"Uh, yeah, um…welcome to…this." Finn mumbled, taking the hint.

"Thank you," the boy replied. "You're Finn Hudson; I remember my father took me out to your ranch once when we were little, but you probably don't remember that."

"Oh yeah." Finn answered. "He brought you to pick out a horse to buy from my mom, I think, but you ended up leaving with one of our dog's puppies instead."

"Yeah, but we bought a horse too," he corrected before turning his attention to the other boy. "You're Mr. Hummel's son?"

"Kurt," the delicate boy greeted. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you, too," he said cheerfully.

Mr. Schuester called them back over to the stage and got everyone settled to begin. Finn gave her a disgruntled look as they made their way to the seats lined up in front of the performing area and sat down, probably wondering why she had made them come talk to Blaine in the first place. Maybe on a normal day she wouldn't have, but something about today made her feel warmer, kinder, and more willing to step out of line. As Rachel's group took their places on the stage and the music started Quinn caught herself grinning, a large genuine smile, as she listened to them sing. Unlike the hours of class leading up to this, the music class seemed to fly by and before long, people were scattering back up the stairs for their books and heading home. The blonde glanced around and noticed Blaine was still sitting at the table, talking to Kurt, and she began to look for Rachel, hoping to introduce them. Finn caught her by the arm and she glanced up at him in irritation.

"What?" she asked.

"You already talked to him," he grumbled.

"Well, I just wanted to say goodbye and maybe introduce him to Rachel," Quinn said quickly.

"Well, don't," Finn replied unpleasantly.

"Why?" she snapped.

"Why are you so interested in talking to him?" the large boy asked instead of answering her.

"Finn," she sighed, "I'm just being polite. It was his first day and everyone was staring at him like he was some kind of…I don't know…freak."

"So?" He huffed.

"So, he was alone and uncomfortable and I…" she began, but Finn cut her off.

"Are you interested in him?" the boy accused more than asked.

"What?" the blonde spat. "No. I just didn't want him to be lonely and miserable. What is the matter with you?"

"What's he got to be lonely and miserable about?" her boyfriend muttered. "He's got a bunch of fancy well off friends and my…"

"Your what?" Quinn asked with a cock of her eyebrow.

"Nothing." Finn shrugged.

"What could he possibly have of yours? He's only seen you once when you were, what, seven?"

"Eight," he corrected, his eyebrows furrowed for a moment. "No, seven."

The blonde continued to look at him in utter confusion.

"He picked the puppy I wanted to keep for myself," the broad shouldered boy admitted, looking a little embarrassed as he said the words out loud.

Quinn couldn't help but laugh. "That's what this is about? Your dog has had dozens of litters and I'm not allowed to be polite to him because he took ONE of her puppies?"

"Never mind," he mumbled. "I still don't see what the big deal is. So what if we weren't making over him? He's got all of New Lima's upper crust to rub shoulders with."

"And if you were suddenly thrown in a room with them," she tried to explain, "would you want them to just stare at you or would you want someone to come up and talk to you?"

Finn didn't really seem to be listening; his eyes were fixed on the two boys at the table.

"See now, Kurt's over there talking to him like he's the best thing to hit town," he grumbled again.

Quinn rolled her hazel eyes; Finn had never been the jealous type and it was not an attractive new development. He seemed utterly determined to find fault with the newcomer, and it was more than just one unfortunate coincidence as a child; he acted like he was being personally challenged or threatened.

"So?" She shrugged. "I'll admit you haven't been as rough with Kurt as most people, you've even stood up for him a few times, but you've never been friends with him."

"You wouldn't understand," Finn said dejectedly.

"Try me," the blonde coaxed.

"Well," he began. "We got this assignment to sing together and—I don't know—it was fun. It was kind of cool that someone who could sing so much better than me still seemed to look up to me so much; kind of like having a little brother I guess. That's all. This morning Kurt was listening to me talk about work on the ranch like every word that came out of my mouth was gold - I didn't even know he was interested in ranching. Now he's over there and it's like I don't even exist."

"So you're telling me that you're going to go on hating him because," Quinn began to list off the absurd reasons he had given back to him, "he has money, I was nice to him, he bought one of your dog's puppies, and Kurt is paying more attention to him just this moment?"

"I told you, you wouldn't understand." Finn shrugged again.

"You're right," she admitted. "I don't understand, because not too long ago, you told me to give Rachel Berry a chance, and you know what, you were right."

He gave her a shocked look. "It's not the same thing!"

"Yes it is, Finn Hudson," the blonde insisted; she rarely used his last name and his forehead wrinkled a little as she did so.

"I don't need this," he snapped, turning on his heel and slamming through the swinging doors of the alehouse.

"Don't you yell at me and walk away!" She followed close behind him, her cheeks flushed at the scene that was being caused.

Finn was already on his horse and dug his heels into its side, riding away without a glance back, as Quinn watched its hooves kicking up dirt as he galloped down the street. Some of her classmates stood, gawking at her and she gave them all a cutting glare before squaring her shoulders and heading down the sidewalk. She was shocked by the way Finn was acting—and all over a few stupid little incidents. Though, she thought, it wasn't much different than her situation with Rachel before. The blonde had been so eager to meet her, but it only took a few unfortunate mishaps to set her against the brunette she now counted as a dear friend, but still, she would have reasoned that Finn would have learned from her mistakes just as she herself had. By the time she made it to the general store, she had her emotions back under control and she checked her hair in the reflection of the window before pushing the door open and greeting her father with a smile.

"I hear you had an important guest today," Russell commented. "I suppose there's more to this singing class than I thought."

Quinn smiled, glad to hear her father being more positive about it, and nodded. "Yes, I can't be sure, but I believe Blaine Anderson may be joining us on Mondays and Fridays."

"That's wonderful, Quinnie." Her father beamed. "A great opportunity for you."

"I suppose." She shrugged as she leafed through their catalogue, secretly trying to pick out another book to order.

"The mayor's son would certainly be a step up," he continued. "Might even give us a chance to get his mother to warm up to us."

"A step up?" the blonde murmured, only half listening, without taking her eyes off the book list that had yet to be edited and blacked out.

"Hudson's a good boy with a nice steady future," Mr. Fabray said pointedly. "But young Mr. Anderson—now there's a future that's solid as rock."

The last comment caused her hazel eyes to race to her father's face; she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing. After all, her family had been talking about Finn and her wedding for as long as she could remember.

"What do you mean?" Quinn sputtered a little, reminding herself of their school teacher for a moment.

"Now, I'm not saying you need to write the Hudson boy off," Russell said soothingly. "But it wouldn't hurt to test the waters a bit with Blaine since you finally have the chance."

It was strange to hear her father refer to him as the Hudson boy; he normally spoke about the young rancher like a son. Now that fond sense of kinship seemed to have been handed over to the mayor's son; the sudden change of heart made Quinn feel a little dizzy.

"I wasn't aware that I had been waiting for that opportunity to arise," she replied, an edge creeping into her voice.

"Now, Quinnie," her father said dismissively. "Don't be like that about it."

"About what?" she said, this time a little softer, but still rushed. "You're telling me to just stop loving one person and work on loving someone else?"

Mr. Fabray closed the cashbox and locked it before stepping out from behind the counter and placing an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close like when she was a little girl and he was about to tell her something secret and important.

"Sweetie," he began. "You're young and love seems like everything. I remember, I was young once too, and yes it's fun and it seems like everything, but it isn't. Love fades, Quinnie, and it's only practical to do what you can to be sure that when it does, you have something stable and comfortable to fall back on. That's what keeps a marriage together. I only want what's best for you. So, I'm just saying, since you have the chance, get to know this boy. He's a fine young man. I bet if you gave him half a chance, you'd fall ever bit as in love with him as you feel like you are in love with Finn."

Every inch of her seemed to feel numb; her father had practically just told her that love wasn't real, that she didn't have it, and he didn't have it either.

"Do you understand?" Russell asked cheerfully, and she nodded blindly. "That's my girl. Now run along home and help your mother."

With that, he let her go and held the door open for her as she stepped outside. The bell jingled as the door closed behind her and stared down at her feet in a daze, the sound of a soft whinny causing her to look up. Finn stood frozen on the steps to the store with a mortified look on his face that told her he had heard some, if not all, of their conversation.

"Finn…" she gasped. "I didn't, I'm not…it's not…"

She couldn't seem finish a sentence with her mind in its shocked and numbed state and she continued to stammer, her voice pitching as his face grew graver.

"I forgot to buy feed after class," he said gruffly, his voice tinted with obvious hurt.

"Finn," Quinn protested as he pushed his way roughly past her.

As she clamored down the sideway and onto the pathway to the house, she heard the bell jingle and the door the general store slam. She rushed through the house without a word to her mother and buried her face in her pillow and screamed.

* * *

"So," Santana spoke sharply in Quinn's ear. "What, did you two break it off?"

"What? No. I don't know," the blonde snapped as she turned to the brunette. "What are you talking about?"

"You and Berry." The brutal brunette shrugged. "You look like hell after a week of walking on air. So, I assume you and the small fry aren't on speaking terms anymore?"

"Don't call her that," Quinn snapped. "And no, Rachel and I are still friends."

"Wonderful," Santana gushed sarcastically. "So then, what's got your petticoats in a bind today?"

The blonde rolled her red rimmed eyes and turned away from her friend.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the brunette oozed. "Do you want me to go get Berry so you can tell her all about it?"

Quinn glared at the girl and then turned her eyes straight ahead; she could feel the other girl preparing to have another go at her and she braced herself for impact.

"What's wrong, Quinn?" Brittany whispered in an urgently hushed tone.

"She doesn't want to tell us," Santana snapped. "Now that she's got Berry she doesn't need us. Hang on; I'll get a step stool so you'll be able to whisper in her ear without throwing your back out."

"San," Brittany said disapprovingly. "She's really sad and I don't think she realizes you're joking."

"That's because I'm not," the brunette grumbled.

"Yes she is," the other blonde assured Quinn. "She's just trying to make you laugh because you look so sad and we don't see you as often now."

"I'm fine," Quinn lied.

"No you're not," Brittany persisted, concern practically dripping from her words. "Please, Quinn, if you're going to be sad all day, it's going to make me sad all day and then Lord Tubbington will get sad and start hiding all our good silverware again. It's how he reacts to stress."

The classroom door opened and Finn trudged in and stared at them blankly; Santana started to move so he could sit down, but Quinn grabbed her arm.

"Sit with me," she demanded curtly.

"Jeezus, Q." The brunette winced in the blonde's grip.

"Please," Quinn said pleadingly. "Will you both please just sit with me?"

"Sure we will," Brittany bubbled, plopping down in the seat to Quinn's left.

Santana rubbed her arm and took a seat to the blonde's right; Finn shambled past them and made for an empty seat at the back of the room. Quinn watched him slump into the chair next to Rachel and Kurt before turning her attention back to the two friends sitting beside her.

"Trouble in paradise?" Santana asked. "My god! Did you two finally bump uglies? Was it was bad? I'll bet it was bad. I always thought he'd be a dead fish in bed."

"Shut up," Quinn snapped. "You don't know what you're talking about and no, we didn't do anything like that."

"So, what's the problem?" the brunette insisted, casting a brazen glance to the back of the room.

"Finn overheard Quinn's dad telling her that Blaine was better than him." Brittany sighed offhandedly and both girls' heads whipped in her direction.

"Is that all?" Santana snorted. "I know Finn's not bright, but I would have thought he could at least work that little puzzle out on his own."

"Shut up!" Quinn hissed. "Brittany if you knew that, then why did you ask me what was wrong?"

"Because I wanted to know what was wrong," the other blonde answered bluntly. "Just because I know why Finn is sad doesn't mean I know why you are sad."

She squeezed her hazel eyes shut and reminded herself that Brittany lived in a special world—one where logic sometimes was a bit upside down.

"Yes, Britt, that's why I'm sad," she said as calmly as she could. "Finn won't speak to me because he thinks I'm tossing him aside for Blaine and it's not even true. He won't let me explain that I don't agree with my father one bit and that I'm not interested in Blaine. I'm sad and upset and miserable because he's shutting me out over something that isn't even true."

"Well, I can clear his stupid ass up easy," Santana said quickly, jumping up from her seat.

Quinn latched on to her arm again and yanked her back down. "Don't you dare."

"Jeezus!" the brunette squealed, reaching over and giving the blonde a hard pinch on the arm. "I'm actually trying to help."

The blonde glared at her friend again and rubbed her arm.

"Just leave it," she said. "I'm trying to let him calm down first. Just don't try to help right now."

"Fine," Santana said grumpily, then added with an impish smile. "You're better off anyway."

Quinn rolled her eyes and thanked her lucky stars that Miss Pillsbury had finally arrived and she could pretend to be absorbed in their studies. She spent the day staring blindly forward or flipping absentmindedly though her books—and ignoring the chatter between Brittany and Santana as they discussed her situation.

* * *

Hours after class had let out, Quinn was still sitting at her desk; Miss Pillsbury was standing uncertainly at the door after putting out all the lamps and getting nothing but "I'm fine, just studying" in response to her inquires as to if the blonde was okay. When Rachel entered the room through the hallway door, their teacher sighed and left. As Quinn listened to Emma's footsteps fade, she rested her head on the closed books in front of her.

"Quinn," Rachel said softly, taking a seat next to her.

"I'm fine, I'm just studying," the blonde murmured into the cover of her arithmetic book.

"I need to discus something important with you, Quinn. If that's okay," The brunette said nervously.

"Okay." Quinn sighed turning her head rather than lifting it up from the desk.

"I am aware that something has happened between you and Finn," Rachel began. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, of course, but I feel I must at least try to understand what has happened."

"Why?" the blonde asked distantly.

The brunette hesitated until Quinn sat back up and made eye contact with her; then it all came tumbling out, and the blonde did her best to keep up.

"Finn spoke to me all day during class today, which I thought was a little rude, but I thought he was simply attempting to be friendly since you and I are friends. I assumed he was hoping for me to put in a kind word or two to you to help patch up whatever situation the both of you are having, but that turned out to not be the case. By the end of class, he had asked me to come to the ranch on some sort of date. So, I am not sure what it is that happened but, I thought you should know at any rate. I wouldn't even consider it, but it's not as though anyone else is interested in me; I don't truly feel a connection like that with him, but sometimes feelings grow from unexpected places…" Rachel finally stopped for breath long enough for Quinn to speak.

"Are you going to go?" the blonde asked, trying not to sound like she cared.

"Well, I won't know that until you explain to me what is going on and how you feel about it." The brunette paused. "I truly value our friendship and I simply can't bear the thought of losing this special bond between us. Oh my, are you alright?"

A tear perched on the blonde's lower lashes; she wiped it away quickly and nodded her head—then quickly shaking her head. She began to explain the argument between Finn and her the other day and then the conversation she'd had with her father only moments later. The blonde managed not to cry—or more accurately, was too tired to cry—by the time she finished. The brunette remained silent as Quinn spoke and patted the girl's back, and the exhausted girl couldn't believe how comforting the small gesture was.

The blonde let out a nervous chuckle before she spoke again. "So, Finn is really done with me and my family is set to marry me off to the highest bidder."

"But you don't love Blaine?" Rachel asked.

"No." Quinn sighed.

"And you still have feelings for Finn," the brunette stated.

Quinn paused for a moment as she tried to search her thoughts. She'd spent last night sleepless and the day frustrated and confused, yet she hadn't actually taken the time to think about what she wanted—only what she regretted.

"I don't know," she said honestly. "Maybe. I just know this isn't the way I want it to end. If it's over then I want it to be over because of something real."

Rachel slipped her arm around Quinn's waist and hugged her close; the blonde's skin quickly felt warm—she hadn't even realized she was cold until just now. She looked at her friend and smiled for the first time since she'd spoken to her father yesterday evening.

"Then I won't," the brunette stated earnestly. "I will simply inform Mr. Hudson that I'm not interested at the moment and encourage him to speak with you, so this whole mess can get cleared up."

Quinn smiled again and let out a little laugh. "Thank you."

"How about some supper?" Rachel asked. "I make a quite savory potato stew if you'd like to join me."

"Will you let me help this time?" the blonde asked.

"I suppose," the brunette giggled, "if you insist."

* * *

**I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I'll cover now that Rachel isn't exactly vegan (for the time period and area it simply wouldn't be practical or healthy) but she does avoid meats. I thought I should cover that since she makes/eats eggs. I put up a one shot for 12-21-12 if you are interested it's titled 83 Miles; Invisimeg has a short series for 12-21-12 titled Until My Last Breath. I can't speak for my own story but hers is definitely worth reading. As always I appreciate any and all feedback so if you have the time even a quick review does wonders for my writing inspiration. (Well enough begging) Until next time.  
**


	6. Chapter 6: Shall We Dance

**I'm glad I have been able, so far, to keep on schedule with this story and keep up regular (even if not as often as people would like) updates. Thank you everyone for all the wonderful comments. I'm working hard to not disappoint you! **

***I don't own Glee or Glee Characters* **

**More thanks to Invisimeg for keeping my chapters readable. Check out her profile for her tumblr account (if you haven't already).  
**

* * *

**Shall We Dance?**

It had taken several days for Rachel to convince Finn that she was not interested in his offer; it was doubly hard to get the still dejected boy to speak to Quinn about what really happened. He had been unrelentingly stubborn at first, which gave way to a slightly devious side of him—offering to talk the situation out with the brunette's friend in exchange for a date. In the end, however, her stern refusals and persistence paid off. She was unsure of how well Quinn and Finn's talk had gone; even though it had been a little over a week now, the two still seemed distant even when they sat next to each other in class. Rachel could only assume they were making some progress towards reconciliation because the time she and Quinn spent together seemed to be cut nearly in half.

The past week had been rather lonely for Rachel; Kurt was inexplicably busy and she didn't feel she saw Quinn as often as before either. The brunette very much wanted to scold her friend, but even though he was sitting next to her, his attention was on Blaine, who was sitting next to him at the back of the room. She was trying hard not to be selfish—it was good that Kurt had found someone else he could talk to—but it was hard not having him to talk to whenever she needed. The brunette sighed as she saw Quinn look back at her with a quick soft smile. Yes, she needed to talk to Kurt—badly. It wasn't exactly correct to say her time with the blonde had been cut in half; it was more that the time spent with the other girl never seemed to be enough. She needed her friend to talk some since into her, because no matter how often she told herself "this isn't what it seems", part of her wouldn't accept that.

This wasn't what Rachel had expected; she had dreamed of falling in love, but to be honest, even though she was very open minded, she had expected it to be with a handsome young man who would sweep her off her feet. She had anticipated a moment when their eyes would meet and she would simply know. She had imagined, at the very least, that whomever she fell in love with would return those feelings. The brunette had never dreamed that she would select the one person that she could never hope would reciprocate—or that it would be someone whose friendship she couldn't risk loosing. The petite girl had been raised to never be ashamed of who she was, but the thought of Quinn backing away from her, disgust or horror in those beautiful hazel eyes, was enough to bring tears to her eyes. Once again, the brunette noticed the blonde looking back at her; only now there was a look of concern on her face and Rachel summoned up a smile and mouthed that everything was alright.

Rachel looked down at her sheet music and took a deep breath, scolding herself for becoming so emotional over a hypothetical situation. There was no reason that Quinn should ever find out about her feelings, and maybe in time those feelings would fade. The brunette fidgeted with her dress and chastised herself for being so dramatic; perhaps she was making more of this entire situation than there actually was to begin with. She looked back up and forced herself to turn her attention back to Mr. Schuester.

"…very well over the past few weeks. Your voices are all improving and growing individually as I could tell in your solos last week," Will was saying. "After getting a chance to hear each of your voices individually, I think you will all realize the contrast between that and when you sing as groups. Some of you hold back while working with a group and some of you tend to sing over the others."

Their teacher paused for a moment while to let his words sink in.

"This is about working together to make something beautiful that uplifts us all," William continued. "And for that to happen, everyone has to be willing to step up sometimes and be willing to step down other times."

"I agree," Santana spoke bluntly. "Some of you need accept who's the real talent and fall in line and stop trying to crowd the talent."

The room erupted with groans and complaints.

"I'm just telling it like it is," she stated flatly. "It's not my fault I realize it or that you're all too sensitive to handle me telling the truth."

"And just who do you think is the talent, you?" Mercedes asked aggressively. "Because I'm not falling in line to sing back up to you."

"Why not?" Santana smirked. "I know you're used to being first in line at Sunday potluck, but I believe this is about singing talent. Right?"

"Why is it called a potluck?" Brittany chimed, seemingly oblivious to the argument going on.

"This I exactly what I'm talking about,." Mr. Schuester called over Mercedes's angry rebuttal. "I don't think you're understanding the point I'm trying to make here. Truly good singing isn't just about a few voices; it's about all the voices working together. When one person decides they are more worthy, the entire performance suffers. Talent isn't just about how well you sing; if you're too busy trying to out sing the others in your group, the entire song falls apart."

"Mr. Schue is right," Rachel chimed in. "And I believe the other point he is trying to make is for those of you who don't feel quite as secure in their voices, it's unfair for you to hang back and leave the performance resting on our shoulders."

"Hey!" Puck yelled. "I pulled my weight; it's the two of you who botched the song."

"None of the performances were bad." Will tried to settle the class again. "What I am trying to get across to all of you is support."

Mr. Schuester looked around the room pointedly before continuing. "All of you have talent and your singing has been good. What I want to help you do is push a little harder and get to great, but that's not going to happen if you let self-consciousness or ego get in your way. I want you to learn support and balance."

"But it's true that some of us don't sing as well as the others," Mike volunteered from the back. "I try, but I know I'm not a strong singer. I don't want to hold anyone else in my group back."

"And I can't help it if I'm just better than the people you pair me up with," Sugar blurted out, eliciting laughter from most of the class. "What?"

Their teacher hushed the group before Santana had a chance to say anything, but Rachel saw the other brunette glare at Sugar, who in turn squirmed in her seat a little and whimpered. In all honesty, she agreed with Mike that he wasn't a strong singer, but she had to admit she had noticed his progress, which was more than she could say for the pitchy girl. As William continued explaining the importance of giving each other chances to grow, the brunette began to feel slightly guilty. Over the past weeks she had categorized everyone according to talent; she hadn't considered the fact that many of her classmates didn't have to training and opportunities she had been given to get her voice to its peak. As their choir leader was pointing out, some of them weren't interested in making singing a profession; they just wanted to enjoy themselves and take pride in what they could do. It was hard for Rachel to imagine things from that point of view; performing was such a huge part of who she was, but she tried. Her dream was to make it to Broadway, but what if this was the closest any of her fellow students came to that kind of experience? Even those with the talent for it may not have the desire or opportunity to attempt such a thing.

As with most things lately, her mind turned to Quinn; the blonde was very talented—not just her voice, but she could play piano as well—but would she leave New Lima? The brunette had no doubt her friend would shine brightly on any Broadway stage, but it seemed unlikely that the Fabrays would support such an endeavor. It dawned on Rachel that Quinn had never spoken about her dreams for the future even though she herself and rambled on about every detail of her own plans. The brunette didn't know what the girl's hopes for her life were, but she got the distinct impression that the blonde wasn't all too thrilled with the current course of her life thus far. Though she tried, the petite girl couldn't imagine how such a talented and unique person could come from such a small minded family. Rachel very much wanted to like Quinn's parents, but the only encounters she'd had were so negative, at least with the father since she'd never met the mother. The brunette was not welcome in the Fabray house; she didn't know if that was Mrs. Fabray's stance or simply Mr. Fabray's. The general store owner seemed determined to dislike everything about her family and nothing seemed to be able to change his mind.

Once again, the brunette noticed Quinn looking back at her, a fresh look of concern knitting the blonde's eyebrows together. Rachel smiled and shrugged, trying to pull her thoughts back to positive things.

"The goal of this week's assignment is for everyone to have a chance to take lead as well as follow," Mr. Schuester explained. "You will be in groups of four and each song will have six verses; you will begin and end the song in unison. The other four verses will feature a different singer in lead while the others sing back up."

Rachel was happy to be grouped with Quinn again, a little less thrilled to be grouped with Jacob and Mike, but she reasoned that this might give her a chance to pass on some of her tips and expertise. Perhaps they could benefit from her influence. She gave Kurt a sympathetic look when he was once again grouped with Santana, along with Blaine and Brittany. He surprisingly didn't seem as upset about his assignment as she expected him to be and only shrugged. When class was dismissed, Rachel hurried across the room to work out a schedule with both boys from her quartet; as the boys began to hash out what times they were available, the brunette watched as Finn left the room quickly without giving Quinn so much as a peck on the cheek. Perhaps things weren't as settled as she believed them to be; she watched as the blonde crossed the room inexplicably to Kurt, who was struggling for his turn to speak as Santana dictated their set up to his group, and pulled him aside. Quinn didn't speak to him for long, but when she was done they both looked over at Rachel, which made her wonder what was going on.

The blonde was making her way over to their group, but Puck grabbed her arm and pulled her aside. Though she tried not to listen, Rachel was picking up bits and pieces of their conversation and she turned back to Mike and Jacob in hopes that she could tune them out and not appear to be eavesdropping.

"I said no, Puck, you need to get over it." She could hear Quinn's voice edged with irritation.

"And what if I don't?" the boy persisted angrily.

Rachel spoke up louder as she talked to her teammates, who rewarded her with quizzical looks at her suddenly higher tone.

"Suit yourself," she still managed to hear Puck say, "maybe Finn oughta know about it, though. Bet that wouldn't help you two patch things up. That is if you're not set on marrying up with mayor Jr."

"That's none of your business!" Quinn's voice pitched. "Nothing I do is your business, Noah, so if you want to tell him that's on you."

"Don't think I will?" he answered defensively.

"I don't think so, no," Rachel heard the blonde say; she detected a quiver in her friend's voice and wondered if she should intervene.

"Well maybe I will. Doubt he'd be half as mad now. He might even thank me," Puck spat as he stomped away, glaring at Rachel as he passed her. "What are you looking at?"

Quinn joined the group and shook her head when Rachel gave her a concerned look, and when they had finally done hammering out the last details of their practice schedules, the blonde rushed off, saying she wasn't feeling well. The brunette did think the girl looked a little pale and tired, but knew her sudden disappearance had more to do with Noah Puckerman than any illness she might be experiencing.

The petite brunette left the classroom and headed for her own, her mind buzzing with the little snippets of information she wasn't supposed to have. It seemed like her whole life was filling up with secrets she was bound to keep for her or others protection and it was like a giant weight on her heart. When she rounded the corner, she saw Kurt leaned casually against her bedroom door looking at her.

"Kurt," she greeted. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Yes, I'm sorry," he apologized. "I know I've been busy and distracted lately, but I was made aware that I should spend more time with you."

"Made aware?" Rachel asked.

"Quinn Fabray pulled me aside and in no uncertain terms told me to pay attention to you and figure out what's wrong," Kurt said apologetically.

"I wondered what that was about earlier," the brunette replied.

"I have to admit, I must have really been slipping if Quinn is picking up on your moods better than I am," the delicate boy stated, "

Rachel blushed as she opened the door to her room and followed Kurt in.

"So what seems to be the trouble?" Kurt asked.

"It's…nothing really," Rachel lied.

The boy gave her a skeptical look and sat down next to her on the bed. "You know, when your answer is that short, it's a dead giveaway that something is wrong."

"I've merely been feeling lonely the past week is all." Rachel sighed.

"I'm sorry about that," he said sadly. "I guess I just got carried away with my own things."

The brunette detected a note of excitement in his voice.

"What have you been so busy with?" she asked cheerfully.

"I've been tutoring Blaine in singing," Kurt said, trying to sound casual.

"Oh?" the brunette said, staring him down a little as she did so.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be here to get to the bottom of what's going on with you," the boy said teasingly.

"Well in that case," Rachel giggled, "what's wrong with me is I don't know what's going on with my best friend recently."

Kurt glanced at the door and then back to her with a broad smile on his face.

"Good because I've been dying to tell you. Blaine and I are, well we are sort of courting—at least I think we are" he nearly burst with excitement as he told her. "It's all very new to both of us and of course we are taking things slowly. Not to mention we have to be very careful, but it's just been so…so…I don't even have words for it."

Rachel stared at him for a moment with her mouth hanging open before responding. "That's wonderful. I'll admit that, yes, it seems a little fast but…"

"We just looked into each other's eyes and it was like we knew," Kurt blurted out. "It's not ideal, of course; we don't know what will happen when his mother comes back from visiting her parents back east. That's why I haven't been over much. We're taking every chance we get while we can."

"I understand." The brunette smiled. "I'm very happy for you both. Blaine is very nice and quite talented."

"I thought I would be more nervous; I mean there is so much I don't know about…all this…I don't even know where I would go about getting any information, but I suppose I have time." The boy sighed.

"Perhaps I could speak to one of my fathers about answering some of your questions," Rachel suggested. "You're right, though, you have time to figure all this out. There's no need to rush things."

"Thank you." Kurt nodded. "Now don't think I'm letting you off the hook that easily. I can tell there is more going on with you than just being deprived of my company."

Rachel chewed her lower lip; she had wanted to talk to Kurt about her situation badly, but didn't want to burden him now that he was so happy. She knew from experience that Blaine and her friend would have a lot of obstacles to deal with, so any time that he could enjoy things being simple, she wanted to leave unspoiled, which she thought was quite selfless on her part.

"Well," he chimed. "I have all day and I'm not leaving until you tell me."

"It's nothing," she insisted weakly.

"Is it Finn?" Kurt guessed. "Because if there's anything I can understand, it's pining over Finn. Well, until lately that is. Did you turn him down because of your friendship with Quinn and regret it now?"

"I knew it!" Rachel squeaked.

"Don't even think about trying to change the subject now," he said sternly.

"For your information I was never interested in Mr. Hudson—perhaps slightly on my first day here, but it certainly didn't take long for that to pass," Rachel answered.

"So you're saying it has nothing to do with Quinn and Finn?" Kurt questioned.

"Of course not," She snapped and then sighed when he gave her a knowing look. "Do you know what it's like to begin having feelings for someone who you know you cannot possibly have—that would never consider you as a viable option?"

"I'm sorry; did you forget who you're speaking to?" He nearly laughed. "And I don't know what you're talking about. He asked you out to the ranch; you're the one who turned it down."

Kurt's eyes went wide as Rachel blushed. "You don't mean!"

"I don't know!" the brunette exclaimed. "Perhaps I'm making more of this than there really is. I've never had a close female friend—maybe I'm just reading too much into my feelings. It's possible that I'm merely feeling jealous because she is spending more time with Finn to work on their relationship or simply feel that she could do better than him."

"Don't tell me you, of all people…" he began.

"Believe me," she interrupted before he could finish. "If I knew for sure what my feelings were, I wouldn't be ashamed."

"It sounds like you're putting an awful lot of effort into making it not what you think it is," Kurt pointed out.

"I would be perfectly fine with having those feelings for a girl," Rachel snapped. "But you, of all people, should know how painful it would be to have these feelings for someone who cannot reciprocate them."

The delicate boy nodded gravely. "I can understand that."

"So do you have any insight as to what I should do?" she asked.

"Honestly? I have no idea, I'm sorry," he admitted.

There was a soft knock at the door and LeRoy called to them that Burt was looking for his son downstairs.

"I'm sorry," Kurt said apologetically.

"It's perfectly alright," Rachel assured him. "I feel better now that I've talked some about it. I simply have to hope it passes."

He gave her a reassuring smile as he left the room and she smiled back. Rachel then began going over her sheet music. She truly was happy that the boy had found more than just a friend and she did her best to focus on positive things, but it seemed like all the secrets she had were about people in love and it made her feel even more confused. Nearly a half hour later, there was another soft tap at the door and the brunette stood up and crossed the room.

"Quinn," she gasped.

The blonde gave her a weak smile and asked if she could come in; Rachel held the door open and closed it behind her, the brunette's mind racing as to why the other girl was here looking so serious.

"Are you okay?" Rachel asked.

"I honestly don't know," Quinn answered. "I'm sorry for barging in so late."

"No, it's perfectly alright," the brunette said warmly. "Have a seat. Is there…how can I help?"

Quinn took a seat on the corner of Rachel's bed and sighed. "You remember the night the schoolhouse burnt down? The night you saved me?"

"Of course." She nodded.

"I wasn't there because I forgot my books," the blonde admitted. "I was there to meet someone."

"Oh," Rachel said, unable to think of any other response as she scooted her ottoman over and sat down.

"I was meeting with Puck," Quinn added.

The brunette nodded; the conversation she had overheard was starting to make a lot more sense and she was immediately beginning to fear the worst for her friend. There were many things a person could hide from society, but a pregnancy was not one of them.

"It was a one time thing; I don't even really know why I did it," the blonde choked out. "I was so stupid and I've tried to make it clear that it was a mistake, but he is just so…so damned stubborn."

The blonde blushed, redder than she already was, and looked sadly at the brunette, who was a little taken aback at the sound of a curse word coming out of the other girl's mouth. She apologized and sat in silence for a few moments.

"Is he going to tell Finn?" Rachel asked quietly.

"I don't know—maybe, but that's not even what I'm the most worried about," Quinn replied.

"Are you…" the brunette struggled to word the question, "is there…do you think you are pregnant?"

"No!" the blonde sputtered. "Luckily things didn't go that far."

Rachel breathed a huge sigh of relief.

"It's just that," Quinn continued. "Ever since then, I've just felt—I've felt like there must be something wrong with me."

The brunette looked into the other girl's eyes. "Why?"

"I don't know how to explain it." The blonde shrugged. "We were kissing and it just felt wrong; it wasn't what I imagined it would be like."

"Guilt?" Rachel suggested. "Not that I'm saying…I don't mean…but maybe because you felt wrong doing that because of Finn?"

Quinn shook her head. "Not that kind of wrong. I just didn't feel anything; it felt like I wasn't even at home in my own skin. Like I was someone else."

"Oh," The brunette said again.

"Is that what it's supposed to be like?" the blonde asked suddenly.

Rachel had no idea what to say. "I wouldn't know."

Quinn gave her a shocked look and then shrugged. "Maybe my father is right. Maybe love is just in books and songs."

"I don't think that's true," Rachel blurted out. "I think it just has to be the right person. What about when you kiss Finn?"

"We haven't, except on the cheek, but that doesn't matter," Quinn replied. "I don't think he is the right one either. I thought he was—not long ago I thought we were in love—but now I'm not so sure. I used to know everything that was going to happen and now everything seems so unsure."

Hiram knocked at the door and then cracked it open. "It's getting late, Rachel; I hate to cut your visit short, but Miss Fabray really should go home before her family begins to worry."

"Thank you, Mr. Berry, I'll leave soon," Quinn spoke softly as Hiram headed back down the hall, leaving the bedroom door open.

"I'm sorry, my father—" Rachel began.

"Has no reason to like me," the blonde said with a sigh. "It's okay, Rachel; between the way my father has behaved and the way I treated you, it's only right that he shouldn't care much for me."

"He'll warm up to you, I'm sure of it," the brunette promised.

"Thank you for listening to me. I'm sorry I bothered you with this," she apologized.

"Not at all," Rachel said as she gave the blonde a warm hug. "We can talk about it more. I don't think there is anything wrong with you, Quinn, please don't think that. If there is anything wrong with someone, it's with Puck. Of course you wouldn't feel right with someone like that."

The blonde gave her an unconvincing smile and thanked her again before closing the door behind her when she left, leaving Rachel's head buzzing more than ever.

* * *

The week seemed to fly by and Quinn was glad to have had both the distraction of singing practices and time with Rachel, who had been surprisingly restrained about trying to pry information out of her. The brunette had also taken it upon herself to run defense with Puck, pulling the blonde away for made up emergencies, and she'd even caught her friend scowling at him, which had been rather amusing. Her mind wasn't any clearer, but she certainly felt supported.

"Before we head downstairs to perform, I have an announcement to make," Mr. Schuester said when the younger students and Emma had left. "Next Saturday there will be a dance at town hall in honor of the arrival of the new banker and his family, who should arrive sometime during the week, and the Mayor has requested that the choir sing a song to open the dance. Now, this shouldn't take much time out of the dance itself, so you will all still have plenty of time to enjoy yourselves, but I think we should accept."

Quinn smiled as most of the room began to cheer and twitter with excitement; there was a lot of exciting news in that one announcement. People were already shouting out songs they wanted to sing when their teacher began trying to quiet them down.

"We will be singing My Country, Tis of Thee," William explained. "That was the Mayor's request."

This news didn't dampen her classmate's spirits and they were still chattering about the dance and performance as they headed single file down the stairs. Finn leaned forward as they descended the steps and whispered in her ear.

"We're going as a couple, right?" Finn asked.

Quinn glanced back at him; the boy had been cold to her for nearly two weeks. He seemed determined to make things work, but unwilling to move on at the same time, and the blonde wasn't sure what she wanted to do now.

"I don't know," she whispered back.

He huffed, obviously not expecting her to be hesitant. "Why?"

"I'm sorry, Finn, I just don't know right now," Quinn apologized, picking up the pace as she followed Rachel and took her seat.

She could feel him glowering at the back of her head, but she didn't know what to say; the more she thought about the past month, the less she was sure of what she wanted. Quinn wanted to enjoy the dance, but if Finn couldn't move on and forgive her for what her father had said, then she would spend the dance with him being sullen and stand offish. In all honesty she had been distant as well; after she had tried to patch things the first couple of days, his resistance had worn her down and she had simply settled into a pattern of going through the motions. No matter how she tried to force herself to be more affectionate with Finn, something inside her had changed, and whether he sensed it as well, she couldn't be sure—but something had changed in him as well.

Quinn was pulled out of her thoughts when she heard Rachel gasp halfway through the first group's performance; the blonde glanced over at the brunette, wondering what was wrong. Her friend smiled and whispered that it was nothing. The blonde sighed and turned her attention back to the stage. Quinn couldn't imagine going through the past few weeks without the petite girl as her friend. The other girl didn't seem to judge her about anything she had confided to her; she seemed to want nothing more than for the blonde to be happy. She inexplicably felt better whenever the brunette was around; everything about Rachel made her feel relaxed and at home. It was something she'd never truly experienced with anyone else, the closest being her friendship with Brittany, and she wondered for a moment if this was what true friendship felt like.

When Kurt came down from the stage and sat next to Rachel, the brunette was instantly whispering in his ear excitedly. Quinn leaned towards them, trying to overhead their hushed conversation, but the brunette simply gave her a lopsided smile and told the boy they would talk more later. The blonde felt a slight twinge at being left out of the conversation and turned her attention to Brittany, who had taken the empty seat next to her. Santana was glaring at Kurt, giving him a what's-your-problem look, who seemed to be glancing over at the touchy brunette often. Finn gave the blonde a half smile as he helped Sugar up onto the stage, reminding her once again of how unsure she was about everything. Puck was giving her a suggestive look as he whispered in Finn's ear. Quinn smirked at him, letting him know that she knew better; if he were going to tell his best friend he would have done so by now.

By the time her group had finished singing, many of the students were milling about, ready to go home, and Quinn was hoping for a chance to speak to Rachel. She'd never been the kind of person to volunteer information about herself, but she found herself more and more wanting the brunette's advice. Before she could get the girl's attention, Rachel was off the stage and headed, surprisingly, straight for Santana, who for the first time that Quinn knew of, had a look of panic on her face. As Quinn picked up the pace to catch up, Puck grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her off to the side.

"Let me go, Puck," the blonde practically growled.

He released her and crossed his arms. "Well how else can I talk to you?"

"You're not," Quinn snapped as she glanced around the room. "We're done talking, Puck."

"So, I hear you turned Finn down for the dance," Puck continued.

"I didn't turn him down, I just didn't accept for sure yet," the blonde corrected as she continued to scan the room for Rachel.

"You know what I think?" the boy spoke smoothly. "I think deep down you know you're done with him. You're just not ready to admit that you've got it bad for me."

Quinn rolled her eyes and laughed.

"So, how about you just accept it and we could go to the dance together?" Puck asked.

"That's not going to happen. Ever." Her hazel eyes caught sight of Rachel and Santana heading up the stairs together as she spoke. "Look, Puck, it was a mistake. My mistake, not yours, but you have to get over it because that's all it was. Okay?"

"Offer still stands," the boy insisted, leaning in a little closer. "Quinn, just think about it."

Quinn pushed past him and made her way to the stairs; she heard Finn's voice and felt a flash of panic as she wondered if he had heard any of their conversation. He was standing at the swinging doors, talking to Sugar; he glanced over and made his way to her at the stairs.

"Quinn, about the dance," Finn began.

"Finn…" The blonde stiffened as she looked into his eyes. "I just don't know where we are right now. Between my father and our problems, I just don't know what is happening."

"But if we go to the dance together, wouldn't that help things?" he asked with a sad look in his eyes.

"I don't know if it's that simple, Finn." She sighed. "I just need time to think."

"What's there to think about?" Finn snapped. "You love me, right? No matter what your dad thinks?"

"It's not about my dad." The blonde dodged the question.

"But…" He groaned.

"Just give me some time to think about it," Quinn spat, her temper flaring, making her feel even worse as he flinched at her tone. "I'm sorry. I don't think. I can't explain it."

"Don't bother." Finn shrugged as he turned around and stormed through the swinging doors.

"Still having trouble in paradise?" Santana spoke loudly from behind her, causing her to jump.

"Why are we friends again?" Quinn asked.

"'cause you need someone who won't take your bull," the brunette quipped. "And I feel sorry enough for you to let you bask in my greatness. So what bee is in Finn's bonnet now?"

Quinn fixed her friend with a steady glare and didn't answer.

"Did he find out about Puckerman?" Santana asked.

"What do you mean?" The blonde tried to keep her voice steady.

"Cut it." The brunette smirked. "He's been digging at you like a dog with a flea. Pretty sure half the town knows; you're just lucky that lover boy is dumb as a sack of potatoes."

"Nothing happened," Quinn insisted. "What were you talking to Rachel about? I didn't know you two were friends."

It was her friends turn to look nervous. "We're not."

Her hazel eyes fixed on the girl's dark brown orbs.

"Oh please," Santana scoffed, "give me some credit. I'm not scraping the barrel for friends yet, unlike you; she just wanted to talk about our performance today. The girl thinks she knows everything there is to know about singing. I managed to escape before she talked my ears off."

"You didn't seem to be struggling that hard," Quinn observed.

"Well maybe I was just trying to be nice since she's so important to you," the brunette said sarcastically.

"Yeah, because that sounds like you," the blonde said.

"Whatever." The brunette shrugged as she turned and made her way over to Brittany without another word.

Quinn stared after the brunette for a moment before heading up the stairs, passing Kurt and Blaine on the way up, and headed down the hall. She paused a moment at the door to Rachel's room before knocking. The brunette opened the door, running a brush through her dark, long locks, and smiled.

"Hello," Rachel chimed.

"Hi," Quinn replied with a smile as she stepped into the room.

"Is everything alright?" the brunette asked as she sat back down at the vanity.

"As good as to be expected." The blonde shrugged as she sat down on the edge of the bed.

Rachel locked eyes with her through the mirror and set down her brush. "Something is bothering you. Is it Noah? I saw him pull you aside after class. I have told him countless times that if he cared anything for you that he would leave you alone and let you settle things with Finn."

"I can handle him." The blonde sighed.

Rachel turned around on the ottoman, her warm brown eyes peering at Quinn, with a concerned look on her face.

"It's Finn," Quinn admitted, feeling like the other girl could see right through her.

"Is he still being sullen and withdrawn?" the brunette guessed. "I would have thought that by now he would have realized more clearly about the misunderstanding."

"That's just it," the blonde confessed. "He's been distant all this time and suddenly he wants us to go to the dance together as though everything were back to normal."

"Isn't that what you want?" Rachel asked.

"I thought it was." Quinn sighed. "I don't know. Something just doesn't seem right anymore. I feel like I'm losing my mind and now I have to decide if we are going as a couple and I just feel so lost about it. I almost wish I didn't have to go at all now."

Rachel sighed and looked like she was deep in thought; Quinn lay back on the bed and watched the brunette. She could almost see the wheels turning as the girl tried to figure out a solution to her problems for her. The blonde felt a little guilty for burdening her friend, but it felt so good to know someone had her best interests at heart.

"Could Finn be too offended if you were too busy to spend the entire dance with him?" Rachel asked.

"What?" Quinn asked.

"Well," the brunette continued. "I don't have a partner for the dance, so I was going to offer to sing for part of it. If Mr. Schue were to say yes, who's to say that he wouldn't be interested in having you sing as well? You would still have time to enjoy the dance, but you wouldn't have to make a full commitment to anyone as a date. Plus, I'm sure everyone would be grateful to get to hear you sing more."

* * *

Quinn paced nervously outside the town hall as she waited for the rest of the choir to arrive; it seemed to her that pacing nervously was an art she was quickly perfecting. Rachel's plan had worked, so much so in fact that several of the choir members had also volunteered to sing at least once during the dance. The blonde had spent several afternoons with the brunette over the past week teaching her to put her hair up, something Rachel had insisted on for the dance, but hadn't made it over today to see how the girl was handling the task on her own. Mr. Schuester joined her on the steps, along with a few of her fellow students, and held the door for them.

"Coming inside, Quinn?" their director asked.

"I'm just going to get some air for a few more minutes. Thank you." She smiled as they disappeared inside.

Five minutes later, she saw Rachel leaving the Alehouse and she felt a little flutter in her stomach. Quinn watched the brunette walk briskly down the sidewalk towards her with a bright smile on her face. The dark green of the girl's dress complemented her complexion and her hair was up in loose curls, some of which still managed to cascade to her shoulders, and she gave a little spin as she came to a stop in front of the blonde.

"How do I look?" Rachel chirped.

Quinn swallowed thickly and smiled. "You look lovely."

"I had the most awful time trying to get my hair up the way you showed me," the brunette admitted. "This was the best I could salvage it."

"It looks beautiful," the blonde assured her.

"You look absolutely breathtaking," the brunette said cheerfully.

"Thank you," Quinn breathed back.

"Are we the first here?" Rachel asked.

"No, some of them are inside already," the blonde answered.

"This is so exciting," the brunette chirped again. "Let's get inside."

Rachel pulled the door open and held it for Quinn as she stepped inside; several musicians were tuning their instruments next to the grand staircase. It appeared they would be standing on the staircase to sing; Mr. Schuester was repositioning several students on the steps, and the main hall had been cleared of all clutter to make room for the dance. More of her classmates brushed past her as they came through the door and their teacher was waving them over. Kurt was already making a fuss over Rachel's hair and Quinn smiled again as William guided her to her spot on the staircase. It wasn't long before the hall was filled with townspeople and the Mayor was warmly addressing them all, introducing the Cohen-Changs.

After the first song the choir dispersed, eager to begin the dance, and Quinn remained at the bottom of the stairs waiting for her cue—though she knew it wasn't for a while. Rachel stood next to her, smiling, and making chit chat until Jacob came by to ask for a dance; with a weak smile the brunette accepted and was lead out onto the floor. The blonde watched her friend struggle to keep her dance partner in step with an odd sense of irritation. As the feeling of jealously began to register more clearly, the blonde forced her eyes away from the pair and glanced around the room; it was irrational to be feeling possessive of her friend. Of course she should have a good time at the dance.

A few seconds later, she had the distraction she needed as she saw Brittany dancing with Kurt while Santana and Blaine danced together a few feet away. As the song ended, Rachel made her way back to the stairs to sing her first song of the evening and Quinn carefully weaved through the crowd to join the other blonde.

"When did all this happen?" Quinn asked her friend.

"All what happen?" Brittany looked at her quizzically.

"That," she clarified by gesturing to Santana and Blaine. "And you and Kurt."

"Santana said she wasn't going to dance with a girl in public," her friend said seriously. "So she took Blaine but it's fine because Kurt is actually a really good dancer."

"What's with the wall flower?" Santana spoke up, suddenly at their side.

"Her name is Tina, I think," Brittany said excitedly.

"Someone should tell her this is a party," the brunette said. "She looks miserable."

"I think she knows it's a party," the cheerful blonde bubbled. "I mean, technically it's her party; it would have been rude for them not to have told her. Maybe it was a surprise?"

"Puckerman's moving in," Santana smirked, "this should be fun to watch."

The three girls watched as the boy approached the newcomer and leaned in, one hand rested on the wall as he spoke; they could all imagine the spiel he was giving her. Santana laughed out loud as the girl shook her head and scooted away awkwardly, leaving him with a befuddled look on his face. The boy shrugged and looked over at them, obviously having heard the brunette's laughter, and smirked as he made his way over.

"Out of luck, Moe?" Santana taunted.

"Girl has a st-st-stutter anyway," Puck defended. "So, Quinn, I notice you're not dancing."

"Wow, using all your powers of deduction tonight?" the brunette spat.

Puck rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Quinn. "One dance?"

Quinn shifted uncomfortably as he stared her down. "I'm up next."

As if on cue the music stopped and she glanced over to see Rachel headed their way.

"It's almost time for your song, Quinn," the brunette said pointedly as she shot a harsh glance to Puck.

"What are you, her manager?" Puck grumbled.

"No, I'm her friend," Rachel said smoothly. "Which is more than I can say for someone who can't put their own selfish feelings aside for one evening."

Quinn couldn't help but smile; the girl was usually so soft spoken—it was odd to see the brunette being so bold and protective. As she made her way back to the staircase, she heard Brittany complaining that she couldn't find Kurt for the next dance and Santana continuing to heckle Noah. Finn stood awkwardly at the foot of the stairs as she sang and she knew that when the song was over, he was going to insist on a dance, though she felt, perhaps, she owed him that much. He had been much more patient with her over the past week.

As Santana sang the next number, Quinn did her best to seem pleasant while they danced—grateful that it was a short song. Finn was not an accomplished dancer and their conversation mostly consisted of him apologizing for stepping on her toes or fumbling into other people on the dance floor.

"That was fun." Finn beamed as the music stopped.

"Yeah," Quinn lied.

"You, uh," he continued. "You sang really well. Up there."

"Thank you, Finn," she said, her smile a little stretched.

"Maybe we could…" the boy began.

"So, how about that dance, now that Berry is busy?" Puck interrupted.

"Puck, what are you doing?" Finn grumbled.

"I'm asking Quinn to dance," his friend said.

"Puck," the blonde snapped.

"It's just one lousy dance," Puck snapped back.

"She said no," Finn chimed in.

"Actually, she didn't, Hudson," the mohawked boy corrected, squaring his shoulders.

"She's my girl," Finn stated. "You shouldn't even be asking her to dance. This isn't funny."

The argument was already attracting attention and Quinn felt her face turning bright red.

"See, I don't think she's your girl," Puck said loudly. "And I don't think I'm the only one here who doesn't think you quite measure up."

"Stop it," Quinn yelled.

"What did you say?" Finn yelled back at his friend.

"You heard me," the boy yelled back.

Finn shoved the boy roughly against the wall, knocking Quinn into the wall in the process, and he turned to apologize to her. Before he could even get the words out, Puck had already landed a punch squarely to his jaw. Rachel stopped singing, letting out a sharp little squeak, as several townsmen rushed forward to pull the boys apart. Quinn could see the brunette rushing across the dance floor, dodging the struggling boys as they were being led to the back door, to check on her.

"I'm fine," Quinn said, a little dizzily.

"Sit down," Rachel stammered as she guided her to a chair. "I think you hit your head against the wall."

"I'm fine," the blonde protested. "I just need some air."

"Alright then," the brunette said. "I'll pull a couple chairs over to the front doors."

Quinn rested her head against Rachel's shoulder as they sat by the open front doors. The brunette had insisted that they remain inside in case the boys came back around the front.

"This is all my fault." The blonde sighed.

"Nothing is your fault, Quinn," the brunette soothed.

"Yes it is," she insisted.

"Listen to me, Quinn," Rachel said sternly. "This is not your fault. Puck and Finn are the ones to blame here, not you; they both insisted on acting as though they had some sort of unconditional claim on you. If they had taken your welfare into account for one second they wouldn't have behaved the way they did. You blame yourself for so much, but no one is perfect, Quinn. You have just as much right to make the occasional mistake as anyone else in this world and you shouldn't be punishing yourself.

Rachel tilted Quinn's face up and looked her in the eyes.

"You're a beautiful, intelligent, and talented girl, Quinn," the brunette stated. "It's to be expected that some people are going to make fools of themselves trying to impress you."

Quinn's breath hitched as her hazel eyes stared into Rachel's. The brunette shifted, putting a little more space between them, and looked down at her hands. The blonde found herself staring at her own shoes; the brunette's sudden shift made her uneasy, like Rachel suspected her of something, and in the back of her mind she wondered what that could be.

"I know I've said this several times before," Rachel spoke quietly. "But I'm very glad that we are friends now."

"Me too." Quinn sighed.

The town hall seemed to suddenly erupt and both girls jumped as they looked towards the sound of the commotion, expecting to see the two boys fighting. If that were the case, they couldn't see it; the entire room seemed to be pressed along the back of the hall, trying to see out the back door. Blaine eventually emerged from the crowd looking extremely disheveled and the mayor grabbed him by the shirt collar and dragged him into a room to the side. The sound of rushed footsteps drew their attention back to the front door as Kurt rushed by, his shirt ripped slightly, and a small trickle of blood running from his nose.

"Oh no!" Rachel cried as she jumped up and sped after him.

Quinn stood in the doorway as she watched the two disappear down the dark street; she was about to rush after them herself when Puck rounded the edge of the building.

"Which way did Hummel go?" he called.

The blonde froze, her eyes locked on the splash of red on his knuckles, and pointed in the opposite direction she had seen Rachel take off.

* * *

**Hope this chapter was interesting. For updates and other info about this story and other stories I'm working on check out my profile for my tumblr account; there's going to be some voting coming up on it about my stories. **

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	7. Chapter 7: Sunrise, Sunset

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters*  
**

**You're getting this chapter earlier than I planned because I'm heading back "home" to see my best friend in the whole world! Invisimeg!  
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**Thanks again for all the amazing reviews! This chapter is a little shorter than some of the others but I will try to make up for that soon. I have to admit I am really nervous about this chapter so if you like it please let me know.  
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**Thanks "Ignore Them" for sticking up for me; I didn't take the review down because it's their opinion (even if it was vague) and I took a look at the stories they mentioned and thought they deserved a shout out. :) But I'm glad you said something.  
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**A big thanks to everyone who has encouraged me thus far and are still reading.  
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* * *

**Sunrise, Sunset**

"Kurt!" Rachel panted as she raced to catch up to him.

The brunette was gaining on him quickly as they passed the burned down school house, but her legs were getting shaky. She reached out and grabbed the loose, flapping end of his shirt and tugged.

"Kurt, stop." She gasped as he pulled free. "Please, Kurt."

"They're gong to kill me." He wheezed.

"Let me take you to my dads. We'll keep you safe. We won't let anything happen to you," the brunette pleaded before taking off after him again.

The boy stumbled to the ground and let out a sharp gasp. Rachel wrapped her arms around him and scanned the surrounding area; no one seemed to be headed their way.

"Quickly," she stated. "While the street is still empty, we can get home. They won't even know you are there. You can hide there."

"It doesn't matter where I go," Kurt wailed. "They'll find me and punish me."

"I won't let that happen," Rachel promised as she helped him up. "We need to go quickly."

"I don't even know if Blaine is okay," the boy stammered.

"He's alright; he's with his father. I'm sure he will be fine," the brunette assured him, fervently hoping that was the case as they made their way back.

She was fairly certain the street was empty, but since she didn't want to take the chance, they crept along behind the buildings until they reached the back door to the Alehouse. Hiram was waiting at the back door and she could see that LeRoy was stationed at the front, obviously waiting for them to arrive, and they rushed Kurt up the stairs and into Rachel's room.

"I'll be minding the bar, acting natural and unknowing in case anyone comes by," Hiram said.

Rachel smiled weakly as her father left the room; her friend sat shaking on the edge of her bed as LeRoy crouched down in front of him and began to wipe his nose. The delicate boy flinched and then apologized.

"Not to worry," LeRoy said gently. "I'm no stranger to a bloody nose."

The brunette crossed the room quickly and pulled the curtain shut; the street was alive now as people began fanning out in search of the boy. She felt a little tug at her heart as she saw Quinn, standing uncertainly next to Burt, with a lost and confused look on her face; the blonde must have been wondering if she could point the visibly distraught father in the right direction without giving them away to the crowd. That was what Rachel hoped was going through her friend's mind, but she couldn't imagine Quinn would be on the side of the growing mob.

"How bad is it?" Kurt groaned from the bed.

"There are quite a lot of people outside searching for you, but they don't appear to be headed in this direction. I am fairly certain that Quinn has sent them searching in the wrong direction." Rachel sighed.

"I meant my nose," her friend said sheepishly before adding, "but that is good news."

The brunette found herself rolling her eyes, a habit she must have picked up from the blonde, as she sighed at the boy's priorities; though she had to admit she might have reacted the same way.

"I've seen much worse," LeRoy said confidently. "Just keep a cool rag on it and the swelling will go down."

"There's swelling?" Kurt said with a little alarm.

Rachel crossed her arms as her father chuckled; her delicate friend flinched a little at the look on her face.

"Only a little," her father replied, giving her a soft look.

The petite girl sighed as she took one last look out the window before moving to sit back down on the edge of the bed.

"I'm sorry," she said, unsure of what else to say; it was hard to select a phrase out of all of the thoughts whirling through her mind like a tornado.

"It's not your fault," Kurt said meekly. "And your dad says the swelling will go down anyway."

"Stop," the brunette struggled to not snap. "Stop talking about your nose."

"I'd rather deal with that right now than—" her friend trailed off as he dropped his head.

Rachel gently lifted his face and looked him in the eyes; there were so many things they needed to figure out. Should they tell his father? What had actually happened? Would the incident be easily explained away or would it not? If not, what would he want to do? The girl knew all these thoughts and worse must be going through Kurt's mind as well.

"Daddy's right," the brunette said gently. "I'm sure it will heal quickly and there is very little swelling. In a few days no one will be able to tell it was ever injured."

He gave her a soft smile before his face dropped back into a frown. His eyes looked off toward her doll display and then glazed over a little; the brunette looked nervously to her father, but LeRoy gave her a weak smile, indicating that it wasn't anything to do with the injury itself. Kurt sighed and ran his fingers shakily through his hair; Rachel watched him carefully as he tried to smooth it back down. Everything about Kurt seemed fragile, from his voice to his fingers, and it seemed like he was too delicate to handle the weight of everything the world was weighing down on him. The brunette wondered, even if they protected him this time, if he would be able to survive the harsh world.

Kurt cleared his throat angrily as he tried to wipe away a few tears that had begun to trickle down his cheeks. "You're sure that Blaine is alright?"

"I saw his father take him into a room in the town hall and I did not see either of them in the street," she said honestly. "I am sure that Mayor Anderson has either taken him home by now or had kept him there to protect him from the mob."

"I'm not," he responded. "Blaine told me once that he thinks his dad suspects it. That's why the Mayor jumped at the chance to send him to our class; he wants him to spend time with normal boys to see how a man acts. He certainly never warmed up to me."

Rachel felt a little sick as she asked. "Do you think he will—would he hurt Blaine?"

"No," Kurt answered after a pause. "But I'll probably never see him again."

The brunette wrapped her arms around his shoulders and the boy shook in her arms as he let out a little sob; her limbs tightened around him as a soft tapping sounded from the floorboards. LeRoy assured them everything was alright as he slipped out the door.

Her father popped his head back inside quickly. "It's nothing, just a customer, but if anything happens I'll be back."

Rachel nodded as he closed the door and she heard the lock click behind him; Kurt's eyes were saucers.

"I shouldn't be here," he said quietly. "I could get you all in trouble."

"You're not going anywhere until I know you're going to be absolutely safe," Rachel said sternly. "Besides, my fathers won't let anything happen; there's no place safer for us all to be than right here."

"I hate it," Kurt spat. "This is completely ridiculous. We weren't even—" He jumped up, nearly taking Rachel along with him, as he paced the room.

"What exactly happened?" the brunette asked.

"Nothing," her friend raged as quietly as he could. "Blaine and I were just talking outside. We weren't even touching. Of course we were talking about some things we shouldn't have in public, I guess, but it's not as though anyone could hear us."

"Then how?" she gasped. "I mean why?"

"Then the back door slammed open and someone tossed Finn and Puck outside," Kurt grumbled. "Finn was banging on the door to get back inside, but Puck took a swing at him, which shoved Finn into me. When Blaine tried to get in between them…"

The boy plopped back down on the bed and put his face in his hands.

"It's all my fault," he whimpered.

"What happened, Kurt?" Rachel insisted, trying to rest a hand on his shoulder again, but the boy brushed it away. "I'm sure that none of this is your fault."

"Blaine tried to break them up and I got scared," he stammered. "So I reached out and tried to tug him back away from them. I think that's when Puck noticed it; he just stopped and stared at me, like all the puzzle pieces had just fallen together. Finn grabbed Blaine and Puck just lunged at me."

Rachel let out the breath she had been holding; she was furious with the mohawked boy, but this was a better scenario than she had been hoping for.

"You didn't ruin anything, Kurt," the brunette assured her. "I believe once things cool down, this will be fixed quite easily. Noah Puckerman isn't known for having a cool head and all he has is an assumption. There's no proof and just two angry boys who think they saw something, but there was nothing to see."

"But that's all it will take," Kurt wailed. "My life was always miserable here, but once this rumor spreads, it'll be worse."

"But it can't be proven," Rachel insisted.

"It doesn't have to be," the boy mumbled.

The brunette bit her lip and watched as Kurt lay back and curled up on the bed; she could feel the hot sharp tears in her eyes as she watched him battling his own salty escapees.

"It's my fault really." She trembled slightly as she spoke. "I set up the double date."

"It's not your fault, Rachel," he sighed, "it was a good plan; we just didn't stick to it well enough. It was too good of a plan; we felt so safe and were having so much fun that we forgot. It made us forget how hard it is for a while."

There was a tap at the door before LeRoy stepped back inside. "Quinn is outside looking for you, Rachel."

"I'll go," the brunette said as she stood up and gave Kurt a soft pat on the shoulder again. "Kurt, please tell my father everything you told me. I'm sure he will know better how to handle this particular situation and what needs to be done."

LeRoy pulled the ottoman closer to the bed and took a seat, giving her a quick nod as she left the room. As she closed the door and locked it, she could hear Kurt clearing his throat and trying to steady his voice. The Alehouse was suspiciously empty; most of their usual customers were still outside, fanning out in search of the boy they were harboring, and Rachel smoothed her dress and hair as she descended the stairs. The petite girl pushed her way through the swinging front doors; Quinn was standing nervously to the side.

"Quinn." The girl smiled.

"What is happening?" the blonde breathed. "The whole town is looking for Kurt. People are saying all kinds of things about him and Mr. Hummel is loosing his mind trying to stop everyone and find him at the same time."

"It's a misunderstanding." Rachel tried to sound confidant. "Puck made a mistake and the town is blindly following his accusation."

"But you do have Kurt in there, right?" Quinn stated.

"Yes, but I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone just yet," the brunette pleaded. "Just until people have calmed down enough to be rational and see reason."

"What about his father?" the blonde said miserably. "I knew you must have caught up with him and brought him back here, but I didn't know what to say."

"I don't know what Kurt wants just yet." The brunette sighed. "I promise you that as soon as we think it's safe, he will be the first to know."

"It's not a rumor," Quinn sighed, "is it?"

Rachel's voice pitched a little as she answered, "Of course it's a rumor."

The girl's hazel eyes widened and then narrowed as she peered at the brunette. Rachel had never lied to Quinn before; she had left out details that were other people's personal business, but never lied, and she felt her cheeks flushing under the other girl's scrutiny.

"You know you can tell me the truth, right?" the blonde offered. "I mean, I've told you everything about me. Things no one else knows and things I would die if you told anyone else and I've trusted you with every bit of it."

"I know." Rachel nodded

She felt torn; she could see the hurt in the blonde's hazel eyes, but it wasn't her secret to tell. If the brunette told Quinn now, Kurt would be devastated and betrayed, but the blonde looked both of those things right now. Rachel felt the heavy weight of secrets pressing down on her and her head was beginning to ache from the roar of thoughts inside of her. The brunette reached out to give the blonde a reassuring hug and her heart gave a little flutter as the girl pressed closer into the embrace. A new thought came screaming to life in her mind. If she told Quinn about Kurt, would the blonde then suspect her of the feelings she was harboring? It was a terrifying idea and Rachel did her best to push it back.

"You're shaking," Quinn observed, pulling back a little to inspect her face again.

Rachel did her best to force a smile, but she wasn't as adept at it as the blonde. "I'm just worried that this will be blown out of proportion. Kurt's never had it easy here, from what I can tell, and something like this—I don't want anything to happen to him simply because people are unwilling to stop and see reason."

"Berry," Santana spoke loudly from behind Quinn. "I need to speak with you."

Rachel could feel the blonde nearly jump out of her skin as she jerked out of the brunette's arms and took several steps back.

"In a moment, Santana." She sighed.

"No, not in a moment," Santana corrected her harshly. "Right now. Right the hell now, if you don't mind."

The petite girl's eyes were on Quinn, whose face was nearly scarlet at the moment; the blonde was slowly inching away and was visibly shaking.

"Quinn?" Rachel said softly. "Are you alright?"

Santana turned her attention to the blonde as well and Quinn's face turned cold.

"I'm fine. I just realized that I should go home," the blonde stated flatly. "I'll—I'll see you tomorrow."

Before either of them could object, the girl had turned and made her way across the street, towards her house. The blonde took rigid steps as she made her way down the opposite sidewalk and then made a mad dash for her front door. Santana turned angrily to Rachel.

"Did you tell her?" the girl snapped.

"No," Rachel insisted. "Of course not."

"Then what was that about?" Santana spat.

"I don't know," the brunette answered honestly.

"We need to talk," the bolder brunette said as she grabbed Rachel's arm and practically dragged her around the side of the building.

"This isn't necessary," the petite girl protested. "I told you I would speak to you; there's no need to manhandle me."

Santana pinned her against the wall of the building, under the stairs anyway as though she thought Rachel might bolt at any moment. "What happened? Kurt's in there, isn't he?"

"Yes." The brunette groaned. "And nothing really happened I'm confident this can all be handled easily once people have calmed down."

"If he says anything," the girl seethed, "I'll be with that mob so fast it'll make your head spin, so he'd better keep quiet."

"Don't be ridiculous!" Rachel snapped back, almost as surprised at her tone as the other girl seemed to be, and continued. "Of course he's not going to say anything. I am telling you that there is nothing to be worried about and I don't believe for a second that you would condone or join in with a mob that wants to punish him."

Santana glared at her. "What do you know anyway?"

"I know that you're scared," the brunette said. "Because you're seeing the ugliness of small minded people at work and you're afraid that one day you're going to be going through this as well."

"I'm never going through this and neither is Brittany," the girl hissed. "Because you and that nancy boy are going to forget everything and never say a damn word about anything."

"We would never say anything," Rachel said defensively. "You don't have to threaten me, or us, for us to keep your secret. I wish you could learn to trust us."

"San?" a small voice sounded from the sidewalk.

"I'm coming," Santana called as Brittany rounded the edge of the building; the angry brunette groaned and stepped back from Rachel.

"What are you doing?" the blonde said, sounding a little disappointed.

"Everything is fine, Brittany," Rachel said, arching an eyebrow at the other girl, "I was just telling Santana that there is nothing to worry about."

Brittany giggled a little. "Of course not; Kurt's the one that got caught and you'd never tell on us, and neither would he."

Rachel shot Santana a smug look as she walked over to the blonde. "Exactly."

"Is he okay?" the blonde asked with a worried look on her face.

"He's alright," the brunette assured her.

The three rounded the corner and nearly ran headfirst into Sheriff Sylvester; the woman was gripping a large shotgun in her hands and her eyes narrowed as she locked eyes with Rachel. All three of them stopped dead in their tracks and the severe blonde kept her eyes glued to the brunette in the middle, without a glance to the two other girls; the petite girl held her breath as her mind froze.

"Well," the sheriff chirped harshly. "Just who I was hoping to find. Aren't you always just right in the middle of everything that goes wrong around here? Typical. So how about you just run along inside and bring Hummel out here for a friendly chat followed by a nice round of public humiliation before the real fun starts?"

"Real fun?" Rachel said in confusion; Santana elbowed her sharply in the ribs. "Ouch. I don't know what you are implying Miss Sylvester, but I was unaware that Kurt Hummel was being hunted by the law. At any rate, I don't know where he is at the moment, but is this really a matter for you to be troubling yourself with? Perhaps your time and effort would be better spent bringing everyone out looking for him back to order and helping to calm the situation at hand."

"Can it!" Sue snapped. "It's a matter of the law all right—Sue's law. This is my town and I like things just right. Hummel's gone and upset the status quo around here and I like my quos nice and status."

"I really don't see how he has done anything wrong," the petite girl insisted. "After all, he was the one who was assaulted, so if anything you should be bringing his attacker to justice. Not spurring on this ridiculous mob and their outlandish theories."

The sheriff was suddenly in her face, the gun brushed close to Rachel as the woman bent slightly to glare directly into her brown eyes. "You might live here, but this isn't your town."

Brittany whimpered next to her, and Santana looped her arm around Rachel's elbow.

"She's been with us since the dance was interrupted," the other brunette said with a gruff tone. "None of us know where Kurt pranced off to."

"I think he ran more than pranced, though," Brittany added softly.

"Fine," Santana shrugged, tugging Rachel to the side and out of the woman's path, "wherever, he sashayed off too."

They were inching for the door; the petite girl hoped one of her fathers had heard the altercation, but the sheriff wasn't giving up that easy. She wheeled on them again as they reached the doors of the saloon.

"I don't buy it for a minute. I know bullshit when I smell it," Sue said before pointing the gun at them and yelling. "Now bring out Hummel or I'll haul the both of you in!"

"Drop it!" a man called from close by. "You got a problem, take it up with me."

Kurt's father was standing nearly three feet away, his own rifle aimed squarely at Sue's chest; his face was red, but his stance was steady. Hiram was at the door behind them now, shouting at the sheriff to lower her weapon as well, and Rachel could hear LeRoy calling from the upstairs railing, his voice edged in panic.

"Don't aim your peashooter at me, smithy," Sue spat. "I'll have you arrested."

"You got a problem with the Hummels, you deal with me," Burt said steadily. "Don't point your piece at these girls."

People were beginning to abandon the search and gather around; several of them had their guns drawn, though many of them seemed unsure of who to be backing up, and Brittany was openly weeping next to her. Most of the crowed seemed outraged, but unwilling to step up against Sheriff Sylvester. The woman slowly shifted the shotgun's aim away from them and to Mr. Hummel, who had edged his way in front of them as her father pulled them inside, and smirked as she locked eyes with him.

"If you were a little harder with nancy boy, this probably wouldn't be happening," she stated evenly. "Now the whole towns finally had enough of it."

"Kurt's never done anything to anybody," Burt raged. "I can't even count the times folks have complemented me on his manners, which he got from his mother, so don't make this about the town hating him. It's you that has a problem because you're hateful and lonely."

"Well maybe if you can't count, you should see about taking his place in class." Sue quipped. "He's got fancy manners, which is worth squat here, and now that everyone knows what makes him so fancy, I don't see as any amount of hollering from you is going to make any difference to people here and now."

Hiram tried to guide her away from the door, but Rachel refused; her other father was restraining Kurt at the banister to keep him from being seen, and she pushed up as far as she could on her tiptoes to see over the swinging door.

"Nobody knows anything; this is absolutely absurd," the brunette called. "It's just a misunderstanding."

"Please," Miss Sylvester spat. "Everybody's always known. This was bound to happen and if you ask me, it's only gotten worse with that damn choir."

Rachel heard Kurt's muffled calls from upstairs and felt a wave of panic rip through her as she saw Burt turn his head; she knew he wasn't the only one who had heard the boy's shriek outside and the mob pressed in a little closer. They scattered a little as the blacksmith fired a shot over their heads.

"Whatever Kurt says he is, he is, and whatever he says he ain't, he ain't. Either way, he's my boy! He's my blood and that's all I care about. If you all wanna spill blood here, it'll be mine and yours. Not his!" Mr. Hummel bellowed loudly. "Kurt's my son and no one's gonna lay a finger on him without it getting taken clean off. Ever! I don't care what he is or what you think he is. So if that's not what you want, then you'd better be dispersing right now."

Sheriff Sylvester's smile was slowly fading as the crowd grumbled, but began to back away, many of them moving at a brisk pace, leaving her unsupported, but the woman refused to lower the weapon just yet.

"Right now!" Burt called out, sending several of the onlookers scampering back a bit further, as he turned his attention back to the sheriff.

"You can't boss me, baldy," Sue said defiantly. "I'm the law and he's been accused of wrongful doing."

"Ahem." Someone cleared their throat.

Both adults turned and Rachel peered over the door once again to see what was happening; Finn and Puck were standing dejectedly in the street with Santana behind them. The brunette hadn't even noticed that the girl had left the building and Brittany had stopped crying and was bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. The boys looked as though they had gone a few rounds with each other and were still shooting glares at each other. After a moment of silence, Santana cleared her throat and gave them both a rough shove.

"Ouch, Lopez," Puck complained.

"Baby," Santana said coldly. "Tell her."

"What is this?" Sue grumbled.

Finn shrugged and the brunette gave him another gruff shove. "Spill it, hay for brains."

"I didn't even do it, Santana," the boy whined. "Puck's the one who hit him."

"You hit Kurt?" Burt snarled.  
"Well I MEANT to hit Hudson, but he was already running away like a little baby," Puck defended.

"I did not!" Finn yelled, and Santana stepped up between them and glared at him.

The taller boy looked a little sheepish and shrugged. "I just mean I didn't run away."

"No one cares if you peed your pants, pudgy," Santana snapped.

"It's my fault, okay?" Puck said, stepping forward with a shrug. "Hummel and Blaine tried to get in the middle of our fight and stop it, so I clocked him one and called him a…"

"So you two boys get a bee in your bonnet and you have to drag my son into it," Mr. Hummel yelled. "And on top of it, you just let it run wild? Do you have any idea how much damage that caused? What she was going to let these people do."

Puck flinched and then put on a cavalier look. "Well I'm here now ain't I? Geeze, didn't think it'd get all crazy like this. Besides, Kurt's fine, and I'm saying there's no reason for people to be hunting him down, aren't I?"

Sheriff Sue lowered her gun a little as she turned, her eyes sparking a little as she inspected the defiant boy, before addressing Finn.

"That your story too, Hudson?" she asked, giving the boy a hard stare.

Finn glanced between her and Santana, who looked like she might attack at any moment, and shrugged.

"But I didn't run away," he muttered as he shot another glance at Puck.

"Like anyone gives a crap," the brunette snapped again as she smacked him upside the head.

"Stop hitting me!" Finn complained.

"Yeah," Puck laughed, "that sounds familiar."

That remark earned him a hard slap to the back of the head as well.

Finn opened his mouth and Santana raised her hand again., "The stuff about Kurt is right. Blaine and him were just trying to stop the fight and we were angry and stuff got said. We didn't mean it."

"So it looks like you don't have any reason to be here, Sue," Burt said triumphantly. "And I'd appreciate it if you let me collect my son in peace."

"I'll be watching you," Sue threatened as she eyed everyone, being sure to cast a glare to Rachel as well. "All of you."

With that, the sheriff turned and slinked across the street to her office, where she proceeded to thrash furniture around angrily before sitting at her desk and glaring across the road at them.

"I'm disappointed in you both." Mr. Hummel sighed.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Hummel," Finn said doggedly. "We didn't mean for—"

"I don't care what you mean for," Burt interrupted. "You'll never be men if you don't learn how to think."

"Dad!" Kurt exclaimed as he rushed through the door and into his father's arms.

The blacksmith lifted his son's face up and inspected it before wrapping his arms protectively around the boy, who seemed so much smaller next to him.

"Are you alright?" Burt choked. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No—yes, I'm not hurt," Kurt gasped in his father's tight embrace. "I'm fine, dad, really."

"You did this," the man said gruffly to Puck.

"I'm fine," Kurt insisted, much to everyone's surprise. "It's fine really. He didn't mean—"

"I don't care." The blacksmith cut him off. "You won't be picking up any more work in my shop, Puckerman, you got that? I don't wanna see you around."

The mohawked boy tried to look unbothered as he shrugged. "Sure, fine, didn't like smith'n anyway."

"Now get out of my sight," Mr. Hummel barked.

Puck rolled his eyes and headed home without a backwards glance. Rachel knew that the boy worked almost as often in the blacksmith shop as he did on the Hudson ranch; he very well might have just lost nearly all his income tonight. The brunette was glad he had stepped forward, even changed the story, but she couldn't imagine why he had willingly risked it. Perhaps he hadn't thought it through at the time; then again, she herself might have risked poverty over Santana's wrath as well. At any rate, she was glad he had decided, one way or another, to protect Kurt.

"Thank you," Burt said to Santana before turning to face Rachel and her fathers. "And thank you. I don't know what we would have done if you hadn't protected him. It wasn't your problem and I—"

"Of course it was," Hiram said dismissively. "We're neighbors. Someone else's suffering should always be everyone's problem."

The blacksmith nodded and turned back to Kurt. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, dad." He smiled through a few tears and glanced at LeRoy. "My nose will be better in a few days anyway."

Rachel let out a little laugh as Burt ruffled his son's hair and led him down the sidewalk to their shop. Brittany rushed out the door and tackled Santana in a hug, which the girl nervously allowed before easing away slightly. Rachel stepped out the door to join them, turning her back on Finn as she reached them. The boy shuffled for a few minutes before taking the hint and returning to the hitching post for his horse.

"Thank you, San," the brunette said softly.

When the other brunette didn't answer, Brittany beamed and spoke for her. "You don't have to thank her; she would have done it anyway. She really looks up to Kurt and she wouldn't want anything bad to happen to either of you because you're our—"

"Britt." The girl gasped.

"We're your what, Brittany?" Rachel said happily.

Santana crossed her arms.

"Our favorite losers." The girl shrugged. "I mean if Sheriff Sue strung you both up who would I mock every day? You two make it so easy; I just like having you around. I mean, you practically embarrass yourselves every day without even trying and that's entertainment."

With that the embarrassed brunette turned quickly and began walking away.

"She means friends," Brittany smiled before following after her, "but she's probably still going to pick on you, but now you just know it means she loves you."

The blonde scampered off after Santana, and Rachel spotted Quinn; she was standing at the end of her walkway, just shy of the sidewalk, and the brunette waved. Her friend waved back and the petite girl began crossing the street to talk to her. Quinn shook her head and began backing down the path towards the door; Rachel stopped and watched, her heart sinking a little, as the blonde turned and hurried back inside.

* * *

Several days had passed since the incident, but all the students were acting surprisingly normal towards Kurt. Blaine had attended Monday's assignment meeting, and while Kurt was no longer welcome to visit him at home by his father's decision, the two behaved as normal during class. Rachel felt that some of her classmates were sending extra stares to the back of the room and heard more whispering than normal when they did so, but tried to ignore it; she hoped that the near brush with disaster had simply made her a bit paranoid and over sensitive. There was one thing she knew she was not imagining, however, and that was the marked way in which Quinn had suddenly distanced herself from the brunette.

When Kurt would sit between her and Blaine, he often shot her sympathetic glances, which only made the petite girl feel even smaller and worse. The blonde always had a reason to rush off at the end of class, was always busy in the evening, and if Rachel managed to speak to her, the conversations were consistently brief and cold. Quinn assured her that nothing was wrong and that she was simply busy, but the brunette knew there was something more. Rachel felt certain that Quinn had somehow sensed her secret feelings for her and, as she had always feared, was shrinking away from her—building up a wall to protect herself from the repulsiveness of the brunette's affection.

"Could you not look at me like I am some lowly creature to be pitied?" Rachel whispered to Kurt. "You're making me feel like a bird with a broken wing, that's certain to die within a week."

"I'm sorry," he whispered back.

Blaine was already peaking over to see if she was okay, and she took a deep breath and tried not to let the completely irrational irritation get to her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered back. "But I'm trying not to think about it as much as I possibly can."

Blaine nodded and Kurt gave her an awkward smile that was still steeped in sympathy and looked away. Rachel tried to keep from staring at the back of Quinn's head, but her eyes seemed constantly drawn to her against her will. The brunette was utterly incapable of listening to their teacher or keeping her eyes on the book in front of her, which was uncharacteristic of her, and she was beginning to understand the more painful side of the stories and poetry she had swooned over before. If she had thought that having the blonde so near without being able to admit her feelings was torturous, it was nothing compared to having those feelings and watching the girl shy away. As she stared at Quinn's blonde locks, she felt very much like she might be dying; she imagined herself as a flower wilting without sunlight. Her lower lip was trembling slightly and her breath caught in her throat. Rachel knew that Kurt was giving her another concerned glance, but she didn't meet his eyes.

"Rachel, are you okay?" Blaine whispered as the other boy tried to shush him.

Just as the brunette thought she might scream, a pair of hazel eyes locked on hers and Quinn gave her the same concerned smile that Kurt had just been torturing her with; it was brief, and the blonde turned back around, but it was something.

* * *

**Once again thanks for reading and please leave a review if you thought it was good.  
**

**Around the end of the month I will be posting a one-shot that may become a collection if it get's enough support. It will be titled Professions and is AU. If enough people are interested there will be a voting on my tumblr and wordpress for the next story done. (Both blogs are on my profile.) Should be a once a month story.  
**

**Also go check out my friend Invisimeg's stories (if you haven't already) because they are all amazing (she has a tumblr as well).  
**

**So thank you so much for reading and leave a comment if you have the time and have something to say.  
**


	8. Chapter 8: Secret Love

**Not much to say. Hope it's a good chapter. *I do not own Glee or Glee Characters***

* * *

**Secret Love**

"Are you feeling well, Quinn?" Judy asked from across the table. "You've barely touched your food."

The blonde jumped, dropping her fork into the jumble of food she had been absentmindedly playing with. Her father gave her a sharp look; he had been behaving coolly with her ever since debacle with Finn. Russell hadn't been cruel or harsh, it was more of a distance, and her face went a little pink under his glance now.

"I'm alright," Quinn lied quickly. "I'm just not very hungry I guess."

Her mother gave her a tense smile before continuing. "It's more than that, Quinnie; you've been distracted all week. Is something bothering you?"

"I'm fine," The blonde said sweetly. "I suppose I'm not sleeping very well. Don't worry, mother."

"Are you sure?" Judy insisted, causing her daughter to feel self-conscious. "You just seem—I don't even know how to describe it—lost I suppose. You've noticed it too, haven't you, dear?"

Russell nodded curtly but then shrugged. The girl's hazel eyes flitted down to her plate and then back up to her mother's eyes.

"I'm fine, momma," Quinn soothed softly. "You're worrying over nothing."

Judy didn't look convinced, but she smiled back at her and continued eating. Quinn let out the breath she had been holding and concentrated on eating a few bites of her badly mangled dinner. She did feel lost; she felt alone and confused and without anyone to explain herself to. Every minute of the day she wanted to climb the steps of the alehouse and run down the hallway to Rachel's door; she wanted to sit at the edge of the brunette's bed and tell her every thought that was hurtling through her head—but she couldn't. Her friend was the reason so many confusing and terrifying thoughts were rampaging through her brain like a stampede. The blonde chewed a piece of potato slowly as she tried to ignore the thoughts and worries that still loomed over her.

Her fork clattered against her plate again when her father cleared his throat. She and Judy gave him their full attention.

"I received a letter today," he began. "From a master builder back east, St. James, accepting my offer to rebuild the school. If the letter is correct, they should be arriving in a few short weeks."

"That's wonderful dear." Judy beamed. "You should let some of the men around town know; they will be happy for the work."

"Actually, it seems they are bringing their own workers," Russell commented. "People who are joining their wagon train in exchange for work and hoping to homestead here once the job is done."

"Well that is exciting!" her mother chirped.

"Best of all," her father said happily. "Our children won't be stuck in that din of filth and sin for much longer. This town won't owe the Berry's anything any longer."

Judy nodded and Quinn felt her cheeks flush once again, a quick flash of irritation towards her father's grudge, before she covered it with a smile. The blonde could feel another anti Berry rant and the very thought of sitting through another of his tirades against the family made her feel sick.

"Did he say how many families would be coming?" Quinn asked quickly, desperately hoping to derail him before he could even begin.

"Not specifically," Russell answered equally as quick.

Mrs. Fabray seemed nearly too excited to contain herself. "It will be so nice to have new families around. When do they arrive? I should organize a picnic to welcome them."

Her father grumbled a little under his breath, which her mother did not seem to notice, as she continued to chatter. Quinn's hazel eyes were locked on Mr. Fabray, watching his brow furrow, and she held her breath as she waited to hear whatever was on his mind.

"I'm not so sure our town needs any new people," Russell cut his wife off as he spoke abruptly. "If you ask me, it's getting a bit crowed here, and need I remind you that you were just as excited about our latest addition and look how that turned out."

Judy fell silent and turned her attention back to her dinner.

Mr. Fabray surveyed the two women at the table and sighed. "But of course you are right, my dear; the best we can do is hope that these new comers are of better stock than the last."

Quinn felt another turn of her stomach at her father's jab and her cheeks burned a little brighter as she forced another fork full of dinner into her mouth. She could hear her mother breath a sigh of relief.

"You're right," Judy chimed again. "No matter what they are like we should put our best foot forward and set a good example for them to follow."

"Too right," her father agreed.

"Are you ready for dessert, father?" the blonde volunteered, hopping up from the table before he could even answer.

He smiled at her for the first time that day and nodded; she scurried into the kitchen, grateful for the chance to get away from the table—and him. Until lately, she had believed the sun rose and fell with her father; he had been her rock and unwavering compass. Russell had always doted on her, even more so than her sister, who was her mother's favorite, and she had blindly believed every word that had ever left his lips. No matter what decisions he had made in regards to her future, she had agreed, knowing deep down he must be right and must have her best interest at heart. Not long after Rachel and her family had moved into town, things had begun to change; his entire demeanor towards them had instantly set her off, stirring the first instance of doubt towards him, and had only become worse with every week. If he could be so wrong about the Berry's, what else could her father be mistaken about?

Then with his sudden decision for her to betray Finn, even if it turned out to be a break she no longer regretted, and his crushing condemnation of love had thrown her all the more. It seemed as though he blamed her for not being romantically attached to anyone at this point, as if her failure to pursue Blaine while maintaining the already existing relationship with Finn were solely on her shoulders, but it had been her father's own words that had set the boy off. The blonde sighed and shook her head at herself. How had everything become so uncertain so unbelievably quickly?

"Quinn?" Judy spoke behind her, her arms filled with dishes from the table. "What's keeping you so long? Is there something wrong with the pie?"

She caught her breath quickly, somehow managing not to jump at the sudden interruption, and lifted the tray that held a still warm apple pie, plates, and silverware.

"No, mother," Quinn said with as much warmth as she could muster. "It was just still a little too hot. It's cool now."

Judy gave her a warm smile, obviously glad to hear her daughter sounding livelier again, and gently set the empty dishes on the counter.

"Wonderful." She beamed. "Take it on out to your father and I'll bring the milk."

* * *

Quinn tossed and turned in her bed; she desperately wished that the reason she couldn't sleep was her father's snoring emanating from the other room or her inability to seem to get into a comfortable position, but that was not the case. What kept her awake was the same thing that had denied her sleep since the night of dance over a week ago. Once again, she slipped from her bed and knelt beside it, wringing her hands tightly together until they ached as she squeezed her eyes shut.

"Please," she pleaded, her voice ragged and hushed. "Please take this feeling away. Please, oh God, please."

She waited, shivering in the darkness, while the chill from the floorboards crept into her knees and legs. The blonde waited for some feeling of light or forgiveness to fill her the way she heard people in church talk about, but it never came.

"Please." Quinn sobbed, her voice pitching with the plea.

She paused and listened intently for any sign that she had been heard, but her father continued his snoring, uninterrupted, so she knew she had not disturbed them. Her face felt hot with embarrassment and the warm tears from her prayers and she lowered herself fully to the floor and pressed her cheek against the cool, wood panels. Quinn Fabray was alone and she felt it more keenly than she ever had before; prayer used to lift her up, but that was back when she had felt sure her every request would be answered. Now she felt as though she had been abandoned; her heavenly father had seen her for what she was the moment she realized it herself and now she imagined him with his back turned to her. When the chill of the floor finally became too much, she stood back up and collapsed back on the bed to resume her tossing and turning.

_What do you want from me?_ Quinn thought pitifully to the creator who she now felt was shunning her. _I haven't done anything. I don't even speak to Rachel; I've tried not to look at her or think of her. Why would you do this to me?_ As she continued her train of thought the blonde began to grow angry.

"Why did you make me this way?" the girl whispered aloud. "Why won't you fix me? Why did you let her come here? What did I do to deserve this?"

Quinn laid on her back and stared at ceiling. _What am I?_ She thought again.

She hadn't realized her feelings for Rachel fully until Santana had interrupted their embrace; there were many things that had to fall into order before it clicked into place firmly in her mind, but that was the last piece of the puzzle. If her feelings for Rachel had been merely friendly, then she wouldn't have felt a sudden warm flash of embarrassment at being discovered; her blush, which had gone undetected by everyone else, and the feeling of being caught in the act had brought reality crashing in on her.

The whole town had always seen Kurt as too delicate; he was often made fun of and bullied about his demeanor and the way he carried himself, but no one in the town fully thought that meant he was uninterested in women. It was merely assumed that he was too frail and dainty compared to the other boys. No one in their little settlement would have truly dreamed that it was possible or if they did, it had never been discussed, not even in private gossip. When Puck had yelled his accusation and gone after him, however, Quinn learned for the first time about the idea that people could have those kinds of feelings for the same gender. The blonde had watched the town react as though they had just discovered that Kurt had killed someone and she couldn't understand how liking someone, no matter who it was, could be considered so heinous. Many of the townswomen had huddled at the door of the town hall with her and began gossiping; it was only then that Quinn had learned it was a terrible sin—a perversion in the eyes of the lord. As the women talked, the blonde had become more and more disgusted with what they said; they spoke vulgarly about it, some in panic and others almost in jest, and she had suddenly felt the pressing need for more air and space so she had stepped out into the street.

Quinn remembered actually feeling frightened for Rachel because she was out in the dark, trying to catch up to the boy; she'd had an irrational fear that somehow the brunette would catch his affliction like some communicable disease. Once she spotted Mr. Hummel, who had always been an upright and respectable man, searching the streets in panic for his son, all thoughts of Kurt being something depraved and disgusting melted away. She had reminded herself that she had known him her entire life and though they had never been friends, she knew there was no evil in him, so when Rachel finally appeared outside and she could approach her, Quinn had already decided that if her friend was on his side, then so was she.

_Was that it?_ Quinn wondered to herself. _Was that what I did wrong?_ The blonde considered that her first sin may very well have been choosing her friend's judgment over the harsher judgment of the word. She would have liked to imagine that was the moment that she had been stricken with these unnatural feelings towards her friend as some sort of test, but looking back, she knew those feelings had already been there from the first time she laid eyes on the brunette. Quinn sighed and considered leaving the bed once again to pray, but quickly abandoned the idea. She was not being heard; no one was listening to her. Perhaps, just perhaps, if she continued as she was, if she kept her distance form Rachel and did her best to control her thoughts, she would be forgiven. Maybe then she could ask for forgiveness and aid and he would listen—if she just tried hard enough.

Rachel Berry, however, was no less determined and undeniable in Quinn's mind than she was in person—even more so. The blonde rolled over onto her stomach and covered her head with a pillow and willed herself to fall asleep.

* * *

Quinn stifled a yawn as she sat in class, once again feeling Rachel's warm brown eyes on her, and glued her hazel eyes to the map behind Miss Pillsbury. The blonde desperately needed a distraction from the image of the brunette's sad, yet beautiful gaze, so she concentrated on reading every name and title on the map. A soft wheeze of a snore caught her attention and she glanced across the room at Finn, who was leaned up against the wall asleep, and sighed. Her former beau seemed to do this more and more frequently these days. There teacher sputtered nervously as many of the students followed her gaze and began to giggle; the woman walked over to him quietly and gently patted him on the shoulder.

"Mr. Hudson," Emma squeaked quietly. "Finn, you're asleep again, Mr. Hudson."

Her timid actions did not rouse him and neither did the peals of laughter from most the class.

"I'll wake him up," Puck suggested from the other side of the room, a large grin on his face, and Quinn could easily imagine many cruel ways his former friend might try to wake him.

"Mr. Hudson," Miss Pillsbury tried again, only slightly louder than before.

Finn murmured a little in his sleep and rested his hand lightly on top of their teacher's, who quickly snapped her hand away. Quinn sighed and stood up, brushing past the redhead as she knelt down next to his chair.

"Finn!" The blonde snapped loudly.

After that got no response, she stood back up, and poked him in the shoulder. She felt someone pushing past her and backed away; Santana reached forward and grabbed his shoulder and began shaking him roughly.

"Stampede!" the brunette yelled loudly.

Finn's eyes shot open and bumped his head against the wall as he jerked awake, falling out of his chair in the process, and the girl let go and smirked down at him. His eyes darted around the room, which was now roaring with everyone's laughter, and gritted his teeth.

"That's not funny!" Finn grumbled as he got back into his seat.

"Really, Rip Van Winkle?" Santana said lightly. "I thought it was hilarious."

"It really was funny," Brittany chimed happily from across the room.

"No, it's not!" he yelled back, causing their teacher to take a few steps back.

"You know what else is not funny?" the brunette spat back. "Listening to you snore and mumble little snippets of your naughty dreams all day long."

Finn's face blanched a little as his eyes darted around the room.

"I was not," he said defensively.

Santana opened her mouth to make another cutting remark, but Quinn cut her off. "I think that's enough. Can we just get back to class now?"

Finn looked up at her gratefully and she gave him a weak smile as she made her way back to her seat.

"You're no fun anymore," Santana hissed in her ear as she passed.

_I know._ Quinn thought as she took her place in the center of the classroom. At least now she had something to distract her from Rachel; Finn kept casting her grateful little smiles and glances throughout the rest of their lessons. She wasn't interested in starting things over with him, that time had passed and he simply didn't fit in her heart the same way as before; somewhere between her father's behavior and Finn's reaction, that part of her had been changed. Like a deep wound or a broken bone, it had healed, but was not the same as before; the pieces fit differently together now. The blonde reasoned that they could possibly be friends now, which they had never truly been before, if he were open to it. It seemed recently that she was desperate to fill her life with as many friends as possible; she spent more time with Brittany, secreted off to speak to Santana more frequently, and even stayed after services to chat with Mercedes on Sundays, but no matter how many people she crammed into her life, it still felt slightly empty. Perhaps she should make more of an effort to get to know their newest student, Tina, who had seemed so shy that Quinn could barely get more than five intact words out of her during their brief encounters at school or on the street.

The blonde made a careful glance slightly behind her, taking care not to look too far back into the room, to Tina. The girl was whispering into Mike's ear and by the smile on his face, it was obvious that they were now a couple. Quinn felt a little twinge in her heart as Tina leaned away from Mike, who had just rested his hand on top of hers on her desk; Rachel's face became visible now that the other girl had moved her head and the blonde turned her head quickly and sighed again. She was sure that Tina might very well be an interesting person, but it was clear that no one was going to fill the gap in her life—Rachel was not someone you could simply replace.

Miss Pillsbury dismissed them and Quinn was ready to bolt for the door when Finn called her name; she slowed her steps, but did not stop until she was out the door, and he caught up to her outside. The blonde waited while other students passed them by and then looked up at him. The boy seemed worn; his eyes looked tired and his shoulders slumped. She imagined it was the extra work around the ranch now that Puck was no longer there to help out, but she could see in his eyes a mirror of her own—tell tale signs of sleepless nights. Finn gave her a lopsided smile and she returned it.

"How are you doing, Finn?" Quinn asked.

"I'm alright." He sighed.

The blonde gave him a skeptical look and he shrugged.

"Can we talk?" Finn asked.

"We're talking now, aren't we?" Quinn answered.

"I know." He nodded, looking a bit frustrated. "I mean really talk. I mean—"

His stammering made her uneasy. "What is it?"

"I miss you," Finn blurted out.

"We see each other all the time," she said lightly, pretending she didn't understand what he meant, as she hoped it would discourage him from saying what she thought he might say.

"It's not the same." He groaned a little.

"I know." Quinn sighed.

"I just," Finn paused and she steeled herself for what she knew was probably coming. "I just wish things were—were like they used to be."

"Finn." She groaned.

"Hear me out," he pleaded. "I was stupid. I should have realized how lucky I was that you were my girl. I guess I should have realized that you could have anyone you wanted, and I should have remembered how lucky I was that you were mine, and I shouldn't have blamed you for what your dad said. I just want you back and I'll do anything, anything—"

Quinn's heart stung again; he had no idea how wrong he was and his words echoed in her head—_you could have anyone you wanted_.

"Finn." She stopped him, her voice soft and shaky. "Please. It wasn't all your fault."

He seemed to mistake her soft tone and leaned in a little closer; she tilted her head just in time for his lips to brush the top of her head.

"You're all I can think about." Finn sighed. "I can't even sleep."

Her hazel eyes rested on his sadly. "I'm sorry, Finn, but I just—I don't know what I feel right now, but I don't see you that way anymore. It's not your fault; it's nothing wrong with you, but I just don't. I would—I would like to just—just be close friends, because I do care about you."

She'd never spoken this way to Finn before; she had always been sure and assertive.

"You care about me?" Finn breathed, as though he hadn't even heard the rest of what she said.

"Yes, of course, I do." She nodded.

He smiled and Quinn let out a sigh of relief; he was handling this much better than she would have expected.

"Are you coming, Quinn?" Brittany called from the bottom of the steps. "I got a package in the mail."

The other blonde waved a clearly book shaped parcel in the air and Quinn called down that she was on her way.

"Goodbye, Finn," she said cheerfully as she began walking down the steps.

"See you soon," he called after her as she turned the corner with her friend.

* * *

When Quinn returned home from Brittany's, it was already nearly dinner time; the two of them had taken turns reading aloud form Quinn's new book, which was safely hidden away in her friend's room. The blonde expected her parents to chastise her for being out so late. Her mother said it was unseemly for a young lady to be out on her own so close to dark and also Quinn was supposed to help with dinner, but instead, they smiled warmly at her as she rushed into the dinning room after washing her hands in the kitchen.

"I'm sorry I'm so late," Quinn apologized softly as she took her seat.

"Oh, Quinnie, that's perfectly alright," Judy bubbled.

The blonde smiled at her mother and glanced to her father, ready to make an apology to him as well, but he simply smiled back at her.

"You were visiting Brittany I suppose?" Russell commented.

"Yes." Quinn smiled back, glad that her father seemed normal again.

"I imagine you two had a lot to talk about," Her mother said as she began making her husband's plate for him.

"Yeah," she answered easily; after weeks of feeling miserable, today seemed the closest thing to a good day she'd had in forever. "Brittany is very excited about the new families coming in. When do you think they will arrive? It can't be much longer."

Her mother looked a little confused, but then simply winked at her daughter and passed the now full plate to Mr. Fabray.

"I'd wager they will arrive by the end of the week," Russell answered with a smile.

"Surly that's not all you two talked about," Judy said knowingly.

"That was mostly it," Quinn answered pensively.

Her mother giggled and shot a warm smile to her husband. "Don't keep her in suspense, Russell, she's obviously to nervous to even bring it up herself."

The blonde's stomach instantly knotted; something was wrong. What were they trying to get her to admit to? They didn't seem upset, but there was obviously something they were getting at.

"I had an interesting talk with someone today," Russell began, and the knot tightened.

Quinn kept her smile firmly in place as she fought down the panic, assuring herself that everything was fine; both her parents looked so happy and if something were wrong, they wouldn't be beaming at her the way they were.

"Oh?" she replied.

"Yes," her father said, clearing his throat a little. "Finn Hudson came by the store to speak with me. He was quite forceful; actually, he insisted that you two cared deeply for each other. Then he very respectfully asked for my permission—"

"He—" Quinn gasped, "he what?"

"He asked for our blessing, Quinnie!" Judy chimed happily.

"Your blessing—" she tailed off as her jaw dropped.

"Don't worry, sweetie." Russell laughed. "We told him yes, of course; we'll announce it properly in church this Sunday."

"But, but I," she stammered, but her father held up a hand as if to wave away her worry.

"I know you must have thought I was against it, dear," he said offhandedly. "By the way, I suggested Mr. Anderson, but I never meant to imply that Mr. Hudson was not a suitable option. Of course he is a perfectly fine boy and I have to admit I was impressed by him all the more today."

"Oh!" Judy exclaimed. "We should write to your sister right away. Frannie will be so pleased! Perhaps they will come out for the wedding."

"The wedding?" Quinn choked a little on the word.

"Well of course." Russell chuckled. "But I suppose we shouldn't mention it to Frannie just yet, Judith; after all, he hasn't even had the chance to propose to Quinn yet."

Her face was flushed bright red as they smiled happily at her, but it was more from anger at Finn than anything else; the boy hadn't taken it well at all—he simply hadn't listened to all she had said. The blonde felt she should have known better, but she had needed him to understand so deeply that she had let herself believe that his reaction was out of understanding. She tried to suck in a deep breath as she began to hyperventilate.

"Don't worry, dear," her mother soothed. "I know it's not a surprise anymore, but I'm sure his proposal will be special."

"Are you alright, Quinnie?" her father asked.

"When?" she asked flatly. "When is the wedding?"

"Well that's for the two of you to decide, of course," Judy answered. "But I've always thought that spring weddings are the best. You have such a lovely complexion in the spring."

"That would give us some time to make the appropriate plans," Russell nodded, "but if you two love birds can't wait, then whatever time you think is best."

Quinn stood up shakily. "I just remembered, I forgot something over at their Pierces."

"Can't wait to tell Brittany the good news," her father said knowingly with a wink.

They both waved her away form the table with more smiles and she made her way blindly down the hall and out the door. Once her feet hit the sidewalk, she didn't stop; her pace quickened and she turned the opposite direction of her friend's house and nearly ran down the street, past the sheriff's office, and then past the church. The sky was turning a hazy peach color as the sun set and she wandered out of town without any real idea where she was going. When she came to the bridge just outside of the city limits, she sat down, feeling suddenly exhausted, and dangled her legs over the edge. It was a very low bridge, which often flooded over, and her feet were submerged, shoes and all, in the muddy water. Tears were flowing freely from her hazel eyes and she wiped her nose on the sleeve of her dress, something she hadn't done since she was a very little girl, and gasped for air. There was no getting out of this; her parent's already had it decided.

"Quinn?" she knew the voice that sounded behind her and she stiffened.

The blonde knew Rachel was standing behind her; it was like she could feel the girl's presence, and her shoulders slumped.

"Are you alright?" the brunette asked softly.

_Go away!_ She thought desperately, but it couldn't compete with the other part of her that seemed to be screaming, _Stay!_

"Quinn?" Rachel whispered again.

"I'm alright," she mumbled weakly.

After a few moments of silence, Quinn heard the boards of the bridge thud and the girl's shoes appeared next to her; the blonde didn't look up.

"I highly doubt that you are alight, Quinn Fabray," Rachel insisted before gasping. "Your shoes! You're ruining your shoes!"

"I don't care about my damn shoes," Quinn found herself snapping.

The brunette gasped again and the blonde let out a heavy sigh. Suddenly the other girl squatting down next to her on the dirty beams and with a loud splash, Rachel's legs were submerged in the murky water as well.

"What are you doing?" The blonde gasped, watching the muddy water splashing up on the other girl's legs.

"I was simply testing your theory that sitting with your feet in this absolutely disgusting water will somehow solve your problems," Rachel responded sharply. "And either it takes a while for the effects to set in or—as I assumed—it has absolutely no bearing on mood improvement."

"What do you want?" Quinn replied harshly.

The brunette was silent for a few moments. "Right now, I want to know what is bothering you, but perhaps after we deal with that, I suppose I want to know what I did wrong."

The blonde couldn't help it; just having her friend near again was beginning to crack the walls she had carefully built up between them. Quinn struggled to push the pieces back together, reminding herself that staying away from Rachel could be her only salvation, but a sob caught in her throat each time she tried to snap at the girl.

"Please," Rachel pleaded. "Please, Quinn, no matter what you think of me, please let me help you. I promise I will leave you alone if you just tell me what is bothering you."

"Rachel." Quinn's voice cracked as she turned and buried her face in the girl's shoulder.

The brunette jerked, but then wrapped her arms around the blonde as she scooted a little farther back on the bridge. She held her gently and Quinn felt ashamed, because of how she had ignored the girl, and how she felt for her, and because she knew she didn't deserve the tenderness Rachel was showing towards her. Rachel let her cry for a while before resting her head gently on top of her blonde curls and asking once again what was wrong.

"Finn asked my father for permission to marry me," she said weakly after turning her head slightly so that she could speak.

Rachel remained silent, but Quinn imagined that the girl gripped her a little tighter; the blonde shivered and let out a little cough.

"Well?" Quinn said when the girl still didn't respond.

The brunette cleared her throat. "What did they say?"

"They said yes." She sighed. "What else would they say?"

"So you don't want to marry Finn?" Rachel commented.

Quinn sat up straight, causing them to bump heads slightly. "Of course not!"

"I simply didn't know. We haven't spoken in so long that I wouldn't know whether or not you—" The girl stopped and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. So why don't you simply tell them that you are uninterested?"

"I can't," the blonde responded. "I don't know how to explain it. They were so happy and my father has been so angry with me, but today he was happy. Today he loved me again and I can't—"

"He's always loved you, I'm sure," Rachel interrupted.

"They've planned this ever since I was a little girl." Quinn shook her head. "Even if I tried to explain it, they'd never understand that I don't—I don't love him."

"Surely if you tell them you do not love Finn they would understand that," her friend soothed.

Quinn was silent for a while; there was no way to explain her situation properly—she saw the way Rachel's father and uncle adored her. How could the other girl understand that, even though Mr. Fabray loved his daughter, he would force her to marry if necessary because to him love and marriage were two separate things?

"You didn't do anything wrong, Rachel," the blonde said suddenly to change the subject. "It's just—it's me."

Rachel met her hazel eyes as she answered, "That doesn't make any sense. If you want to be my friend and I haven't done anything wrong, then I cannot understand why you've been avoiding me. So it stands to reason that it's not something wrong with you, but rather something wrong with me and you simply want to be kind."

Quinn opened her mouth to object but the loud thud of footsteps on the bridge silenced her.

"There you are." Mr. Fabray heaved a sigh of relief as he approached. "What are you doing out here? I thought you had gone to—"

He stopped abruptly as he recognized Rachel and his eyebrows furrowed as he took in the scene. Quinn cringed at the angry look that washed over his face and froze in place.

"What are you doing out here with her? What is the meaning of this?" he spoke sharply.

"I was—" the blonde began.

"You lie to us and come out here in the dark to meet up with girl, who we have made abundantly clear that we do not approve of," Russell continued. "For what? You shouldn't be out this late and so far from town and after everything finally seemed to be looking up."

His tone was rising quickly into a yell and Rachel trembled a little next to Quinn.

"You're supposed to be at the Pierces' telling them the good news, but when I get there, they haven't even seen you. Your mother is worried," he finished.

"I'm sorry," Quinn croaked.

"Young lady, you will be," Mr. Fabray snapped as he stepped forward and reached for her arm.

"Stop it!" Rachel spat at him before glancing down at her lap quickly. "I'm sorry for being sharp with you, Mr. Fabray, I only mean that Quinn didn't mean to upset you and she didn't come out here to meet me; I simply saw that she was upset and stopped to see if she was alright."

"Nonsense," he all but growled at her. "What has she got to be upset about? Quinn, what is she talking about?"

Quinn was still frozen in place, her eyes wide, and she couldn't seem to get her voice to work.

"Please compose yourself, Mr. Fabray," Rachel said coolly. "I know it's terribly impolite of me to say, but if you listened to your daughter once in a while, you would clearly understand why she is upset."

The blonde's mouth dropped open; no one ever spoke to her father this way and she was amazed at the brunette coming so quickly to her defense.

"Don't you talk to your elders that way?" Russell chastised her harshly.

"She doesn't want to marry Finn Hudson, but you've made her feel like you won't love her if she doesn't," the girl continued on despite his warning. "I'm sure that as a father you can understand how that would utterly demoralize her and I'm positive that you truly want what's best for her, but the way you're going about it—"

"That is enough out of you!" He yelled. "I do not need someone like you telling me what's best for my daughter."

He took another loud step towards them and Rachel stood up, blocking his view of Quinn; the brunette looked so much smaller compared to the large, angry man, but her chin was jutted out and she placed on hand firmly on her hip as she continued to speak.

"I think you should calm down before you attempt to speak to Quinn," the girl said evenly. "I realized I have made you very angry, but that isn't her fault. I would be happy to walk her back into town where you two could discus this more calmly and in private."

Quinn felt sure that her father was about to strike Rachel, but instead, he stepped back and to the side so that he could look his daughter square in the eye. He spoke as though the brunette were not even there.

"Quinn Fabray, mark my words," Mr. Fabray bellowed. "If you are not on your feet and by my side in the next five minutes, you will sorely regret it! You are never to speak to this girl again and I will be sure to tell your teacher that you are not to interact with her during school or I will withdraw you from it. You will accept Finn Hudson's proposal and you will be happy to do so. You have changed since this girl came to town and it is going to stop. Do you hear me?"

The blonde swallowed hard and pulled her feet out of the water.

"Quinn," Rachel let out a little sob. "You don't have to—"

"Not a word!" Russell yelled and Quinn stumbled over to him.

Her father wrapped an arm around her roughly and turned them both back towards town. The blonde craned her neck to look back at the brunette, who stood shaking and obviously crying on the edge of the bridge.

_I'm sorry._ She mouthed, but she felt sure that Rachel couldn't see it.

* * *

Her father kept her home from school the next day; it seemed as though he felt he needed to prove how serious his threat had been. Today she sat at the front of the classroom, far removed from her usual spot, at Miss Pillsbury's request. Finn sat happily next to her, seemingly oblivious to how stiff and formal she was being towards him, and rested his arm across her shoulders. It amazed Quinn how she had never noticed the feeling before, a little recoil in her body when he touched her, and she wondered how she had never realized just how little she wanted him near her. Two days ago she had hoped they would be friends, but now she hated the boy—or at least she hated the situation she was in with him. He smiled at her with a large, goofy grin and she didn't bother to force a smile.

"Are you alright?" he whispered in her ear; she flinched a little as he did so and did not answer.

Finn's eyes were suddenly filled with concern and she motioned to the teacher and then began to pretend she was interested in the day's lesson.

At lunch time, her mother showed up with a basket of food for the both of them; another pointed effort on her parent's part to let her know they were keeping a close watch on her. Quinn smiled and laughed and made pleasant small talk with Finn and her mother as they ate; if her mother hadn't been there, she would have cornered the boy and demanded an explanation of why he went to her father behind her back. Had he done it to force her hand or had he actually convinced himself that Quinn wanted to be back together with him? As her mother packed up the meal and bid them a happy farewell the blonde was ready to turn on him the minute Judy was out of earshot.

"I'm glad you're happier now," Finn said suddenly. "This morning you seemed really upset, but I guess I was wrong. Or maybe you were just hungry; I get grumpy when I'm hungry, too."

"Finn," she snapped and he took a step back, recoiling from her tone.

"What?" he said sheepishly.

Quinn clinched her teeth and tried to clam herself. It didn't matter if her parents saw her yell at him or not, if she didn't do this right, they would still find out about it. She needed to do this calmly, but she wasn't sure she had it in her.

"I don't know what I did wrong," Finn muttered in confusion. "You say you care about me and want us to be close again and so I go practically beg your dad to let us be together and now you're being cold to me again."

"I said I wanted us to be friends because I cared about you." The blonde struggled to keep her voice even.

"No, I'm pretty sure you said close," he replied, scratching his head.

"Close friends," Quinn corrected through clenched teeth.

Finn looked slack jawed at her for a moment and then shook his head. "No. No. I said I was sorry that I got mad at you about what your dad said and that all I could think about was you. Then I kissed your hair and you said it wasn't all my fault and that you didn't feel the same as before and that you wanted us to be close again and you really cared about me."

The blonde let out an exasperated groan and he reached out to comfort her, but she took a quick step back; it was clear that he hadn't done this on purpose, but it didn't make it any easier for her.

"I need you to listen to me very carefully, okay, Finn?" Quinn said slowly.

Finn nodded and she took a deep breath.

"You misunderstood what I was trying to—" she began as patiently as she could.

"They're here!" someone shouted a few feet away.

Quinn turned to see Brittany bouncing excitedly on the balls of her feet and waving down the street at several wagons. All of the students were beginning to crowd the sidewalk to watch the wagon train arrive and she felt Finn's hand rest gently on her shoulder.

"Hey!" he said loudly in her ear over the sound of horses and wheels clamoring down the main road. "Guess they made it here early."

With that, he planted a quick kiss on her cheek and dashed off towards the street to join their classmates. Quinn rolled her eyes and tossed her head back in frustration; at the top of the stairs, she saw Rachel looking down at her. The brunette quickly blushed and looked away before darting down the steps and walking into the crowd of people gathering along the sidewalk. The blonde sat down on large rock in the shade of the steps and tried to catch her breath. She was the only one in town who wasn't lined up along the street to great the newcomers; it all seemed so pointless. What did she care about new people in town? The only person she cared about, she couldn't have; even if her father hadn't forbidden her to see Rachel, there would still be nothing to hope for. There was no place in the world for her—she was alone.

* * *

"Did he ask you today?" Judy asked casually as Quinn entered the house.

"No," she replied dryly.

"Don't worry, honey, he will," her mother said cheerfully.

It still amazed Quinn how her mother could believe so clearly that her daughter's only concern was when Finn would ask her to marry him. Had her father not told her about it?

"I'm glad they called off school for the rest of the day," her mother continued. "I'm heading out soon with some of the other wives to help cook them meals."

Quinn nodded and took a seat next to her mother in the sitting room.

"I need you to clean off the windows and sweep the walkway." Judy sighed. "Since they paraded the entire wagon train through town, the dust is everywhere."

"Alright," she said softly.

It made no sense; her mother had brought them lunch, so she had to know what had happened the other night.

"Mother," Quinn began but she couldn't think of what to say.

"Yes, dear?" the woman answered absentmindedly.

"Nothing." She shrugged.

"Don't worry so much, Quinn," Judy said softly. "He'll ask you soon enough. I have to admit, I was hoping that you would have news for me when I came over with lunch, but it's still early and perhaps he is just trying to think of an extra special way to propose. Just be patient."

Quinn nodded; her question was answered. Her mother obviously had no idea what had happened.

"Well," the woman sighed as she hopped up onto her feet, "I should be going. The other women are so unorganized and they'll need me to set the pace. How do I look?"

"Lovely," the blonde said with a smile. "As always, mother."

"Thank you, dear." Judy smiled back. "Now remember the windows and the walkway."

"I will," she said as she stood up as well.

Quinn swept the walkway as her mother headed down the street towards a large group of women standing next to a couple of carriages. The blonde ducked back inside and quickly returned with a rag and bucket of water to wash the windows with; she was happy to have busy work to occupy her mind with, but it didn't last for long. Soon, not only the front windows, but every window to the house was sparkling and still dripping with water and she emptied the bucket into the garden. Quinn walked quickly into the kitchen to find something else to do, but all the dishes had been cleaned and were neatly stacked in their shelves. The blonde collected the bucket again and headed into the back yard and filled it at the pump; she collected a scrub brush in the small back room and made her way to the front door. She was halfway through scrubbing the long hallway when the tears started to fall again; she grunted and tried to force out the train of thought that had started them up again.

It was better that she marry Finn, she insisted to herself, because even if the marriage had no love in it, he would treat her kindly and it would be pure. After all, what good would it do not to marry him? Quinn knew now who she was in love with and it could never be, so there was no sense in even thinking about it. There wasn't any sense in holding out for someone new; she wouldn't love them either, so Finn was her only option—possibly her only salvation from the hell she heard about every week. Quinn told herself that even if she were free to be friends with Rachel, that's all it would ever be. How could it be anything more than that? Once she was married and out of her father's house, she would be a woman and Finn would not object to her friendship with Rachel—he had always encouraged it. Rachel would marry someone and they could grow old as friends; they could watch their children play together as they grew up.

The thought of the brunette falling in love with someone sent an uneasy jolt down her spine and she pounded her fist down on the wet floor beneath her. She needed a friend; she needed someone to talk to, but there was no one she could tell about this. The blonde chucked the scrub brush down in the bucket and covered her face in her hands.

Quinn stood up and turned, leaving the bucket of water in the middle of the hall as she exited the back door. She couldn't tell anyone what she was feeling or why, but she could still seek comfort in Brittany, who never asked too many questions, and it would be at least a small comfort. The blonde let herself in through the back door of the Pierce house and tiptoed to her friend's bedroom door; their home was in the back of the tailor shop and she knew that Mr. and Mrs. Pierce would still be busy up front with customers. She knocked lightly at the girl's bedroom door and turned the knob without waiting for an answer.

Quinn barely had the door open when she spotted Brittany and Santana; she froze and pulled the door back, peeking through the small crack to be sure that what she had actually seen was real. The blonde reasoned that the stress must be making her crazy, but when she peered through the small sliver of space to double check, she realized she was not mistaken. Brittany sat at the edge of her bed while Santana leaned down, her olive toned fingers woven into the other girl's blonde hair, and was kissing her fully on the mouth. The sitting girl leaned forward into the kiss and gripped the quilt beneath her tightly.

She batted her hazel eyes and covered her mouth as she slowly eased the door shut again. The backdoor slammed behind her as she left and she stumbled along the side of the building, her face flushed scarlet and her eyes fixed on her destination—the Berry Alehouse and Inn.

* * *

**I hope the chapter wasn't too depressing. It was a hard chapter to write and I tapped into a bit of personal experience for some of it. That being said any critique or concerns with the writing are welcome as always as well as any thoughts you might have (good or bad). Let me know what you think in comment or pm and once again; thanks for reading.  
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**Professions has it's first story out and the second is in the works for the end of February (with fingers crossed) and votes for the story concept for March are taking place on my tumbler and wordpress (there is a poll). So feel free to participate.  
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	9. Chapter 9: You Do Something To Me

***I do not own Glee or Glee characters* Thanks you all for your reviews. I'm attempting to update this story every two weeks but from time to time it get's late (it's technically on time because I believe I posted the last chapter early). I can't always promise that the chapters will be up in exactly two weeks due to work, writers block, family, friends, (life stuff), and the life stuff of my beta reader; but I do try.  
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**Anyway - Enjoy**

* * *

**You Do Something To Me**

Rachel paced angrily back and forth in her room, the heels of her shoes clicking harshly against the sturdy wood beneath them, while Kurt watched her from the ottoman at the vanity. Boredom and irritation was etched across his delicate face as he listened to her rant, once again, about events that she had gone over several times before.

"I know, Rachel, I know." Kurt huffed.

"No, Kurt, you don't know," Rachel snapped. "You weren't there; you didn't see the look in his eyes, or hers—you didn't hear the way he spoke to her like she was nothing more than a bad dog or the way she slinked away with him as though she believed it. It all just makes me so, so very—"

"Angry," he finished for her, cutting her off. "Are you sure you're not just angry about the way he spoke to you? Quinn can be almost as hard as Santana. She doesn't strike me as the kind of girl who needs someone to protect her."

"But she does!" The brunette groaned, finally coming to rest on the bed with an overly dramatic thud. "You don't know her the way I do. You don't see it, but I do."

Kurt didn't speak; he merely rolled his eyes and turned back to the mirror, touching his nose gently, though the damage had long since healed.

"You'd understand if you'd seen her that night," she insisted, mumbling into her pillow; she then turned her head to be heard more clearly. "I really am very worried about her. I'm absolutely terrified she might harm herself in some way. She needs me."

The boy turned around quickly and interlaced his fingers before resting his head on them to address her. "Are you sure you don't just need her to need you?"

"I don't know what you mean," Rachel replied with a pout.

"Quinn has ignored you since that night," Kurt pointed out. "She's avoided you more harshly than she did after the dance. If she needed you, don't you think she would at least try to secret you away for a few seconds or at least give you a signal?"

Rachel covered her face with a pillow and let some of her frustration out.

"That's what I'm telling you," she said once she removed it. "I can see it; she wants to talk to me, but she can't because who knows what Mr. Fabray would do to her."

"What signals?" Kurt said sharply.

The brunette sat up quickly, but her mind was blank; she couldn't think of any one thing in particular. He gazed at her with a look of both pity and triumph.

"I just know," Rachel said, crossing her arms.

"You just want her to," he corrected softly. "I know what you're going through, remember? Do you have any idea how many times I groped for signs that weren't there from Finn? But you're going to have to move on from this, just like I did from him."

"You didn't move on," she said with a sigh. "You met your soul mate. It's different."

"How?" Kurt asked. "I feel for you, but you have to get past this. That way you'll be ready when you meet your soul mate."

"You don't—" Rachel choked a little, "she's—"

She stopped short of saying the embarrassing truth—that she believed Quinn was the only person she would ever truly feel this way for—and looked away. It was clear that he had guessed what she was going to say and she felt his soft hands land gently on top of hers, but she didn't look him in the eye as he spoke.

"Soul mates love you back, Rachel," he replied sadly. "If you never open yourself up to it, then how are you going to ever meet the one?"

"But I did," Rachel choked again.

Tears were starting to roll down her cheeks, but she didn't pull her hand away or even attempt the brush them from her now blotchy cheeks.

"I know I'm young and that love makes people crazy," she tried to steady her voice, "and I'm completely aware that I sound like a silly little child right now, but I just know. I mean, I know she could never feel this way for me, of course."

"Of course," Kurt echoed and she shot him a 'you're-no-help' look.

"But that doesn't mean that we couldn't be close," she continued. "I think I could handle that. I could take being her friend and watching her be happy and simply live my life on the moments we spent together being close if I knew she was happy."

She didn't really believe it, but she wanted to, and she could clearly see that her friend didn't believe it either.

"That's very noble," Kurt nodded, "but you and I both know that's not how things would be."

The brunette gave in and nodded back at him.

"Besides," he said brightly. "Once the three of us get to New York, you'll have so many suitors. Everyone wants to be close to a star. Remember that. I fully expect you to rely on Blaine and I to decide who is worthy of you. You're hopeless at deciding these things for yourself."

Rachel let out a small hiccup of laughter through her tears.

"You have no idea what you're worth," Kurt said sternly. "You're either overreaching or under reaching, so it really is best you leave it up to us. I mean it, Rachel; you're your own worst enemy sometimes."

"A few months ago I would have disagreed with you." The brunette sighed.

"A few months ago you would have thrown something at me and ordered me out of your room." He nodded with a laugh. "Which only proves my point."

She swatted at him halfheartedly. The past few months had taken a huge toll on her; she barely recognized herself. The brunette chastised herself for being taken so off course by her own emotions; she'd never planned to stay in New Lima and just moments ago she had been talking about living her days out here in the shadows to watch the woman she loved marry and raise children. She was not the Rachel Berry that she remembered. The thought of moving on, trying to push the blonde out of her heart, was terrifying, but her friend must be right.

They both paused at the sound of rushed footsteps in the hallway. Kurt stood up and waited at the door; they both expected it to be his father, who seemed to still panic with the boy was out of his sight for too long. He rested his hand on the doorknob and waited for a knock that never came. Instead, the door burst open, knocking the fragile boy against the wall, and Quinn stopped halfway through the door when she heard his groans.

"Kurt! Are you alright?" Rachel finally managed to say, a few moments after the shock wore off.

"I think so," Kurt replied. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

"I need to talk to you," Quinn said flatly without a glance to the boy she had struck with the door.

"An apology would be nice," he said weakly, throwing Rachel a look of pure shock.

"Of course we can talk," The brunette said almost breathlessly, standing up to offer her a seat.

She turned to Kurt while trying, and failing, not to give him an 'I-told-you-so' look.

"Are you sure you're alright, Kurt?" she asked as she held the door for him.

He eyed her nervously. "Yes, I suppose I've had worse. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"

Quinn's eyes went wide with panic before sharpening down into a glare and Rachel ushered her friend out into the hallway.

"I'm sure," she said. "Your father is probably starting to worry about you by now anyway."

Before Kurt even had a chance to respond, she had closed the door in his face; she felt a little bad for it, but she had no way of knowing how long she and Quinn would have. Every nerve in her body was on end and her mind was racing back to the last night they spoke. Did Mr. Fabray know she was here and would he come charging in again? The blonde was pacing now, exactly in the same space she herself had been only moments ago, and Rachel knew that there was something important going on to have brought her here. She leaned against the door for a few minutes, trying to think of what to say to get the blonde talking; after all, Quinn was not an easy person to get information from even when she obviously wanted to talk about something.

"The world has gone mad," the blonde blurted before Rachel had even had a chance to begin. "Or I've gone mad. I feel crazed. How can I even know if what I saw was real?"

Quinn paused and looked to the brunette as though asking for some sort of reassurance that she was right. Her hazel eyes seemed to be begging to be told that she was right, as though she hoped that insanity was the answer.

"Well," Rachel sputtered, trying to make sense out of the little information she'd been given.

"They were kissing!" Quinn blurted again. "Why would they be kissing? It's wrong, it's unnatural, it's against god and all we have ever been taught. They couldn't have been."

"Kissing?" the brunette questioned.

"Why would Santana be kissing Brittany?" she babbled on. "Why would Brittany let her?"

"Oh," Rachel said uncomfortably, her mind racing for a way to protect the two girls as she had always promised she would.

"You knew!" Quinn gasped; her face was a perfect picture of astonishment before it fell again. "Of course you knew. So it's true."

"I don't think you understand what you saw," the petite girl protested. "Maybe one of them had a speck in her eye and the other way trying to get it out. Things aren't always what they look like, you know, and we all saw what happens when people make wild assumptions."

The excuse sounded weak, but Rachel somehow hoped that if she clung to it firmly enough that she could get the other girl to believe it too.

"Why wouldn't they have told me?" Quinn sighed, her whole body suddenly beginning to shake, and she looked the brunette dead in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I'm sure if you went to them now and asked them, they could explain what it is that really happened," she suggested desperately, suddenly regretting what she had just said for several reasons. "Or I should—I should go and ask them and I'll come back and tell you."

The girl's hazel eyes blazed for a second. "I already know what really happened."

"Please," Rachel begged. "Please, Quinn, don't overreact. Think about what will happen to them if you tell. They're your friends; you don't want them to get hurt. Please think about that before you do anything rash."

"But I'm right?" the blonde said without a hint of relief. "So I'm not mad?"

Rachel's heart seemed to squeeze to a stop for a second at the look of torment on the girl's face; it dawned on her that her friend truly would have preferred to discover that she was insane. The brunette took a few quick steps toward her and hoped that the girl didn't notice how she trembled. She could feel that soon she would know just how disgusted Quinn was by the very idea female affections and she knew there was no way to prepare herself fully for it. Rachel took Quinn's hand gently in her own to try to sooth her and mentally noted that this would possibly be the last time she would ever be able to do so.

"Quinn," Rachel said seriously. "I know you don't understand it. You don't understand how they could do what they are doing or feel that way for each other, but I am begging you to remember that they are your friends."

The blonde gave a little snort. "You have no idea what I understand or don't."

"I know you believe it to be unnatural and against the church's teachings," the brunette spoke in a rushed whisper. "And you think it's disgusting and perverse, but it's not. It's just love, Quinn. You know what love feels like, I am sure, and you know how strong and undeniable it can be so please—"

Rachel meant to finish with _so please do not let others punish them for what they feel_. She had intended to plead with the girl to at least give Brittany and Santana a chance to finish the school year and leave town. The petite girl was willing to try anything to convince her to drop the subject, even just for now, but she couldn't finish the sentence.

Quinn's lips were warm and eager against her own and Rachel froze in place. The idea that it was she who had gone suddenly insane was overwhelming, but not as overwhelming as the urge to return the kiss, and she wrapped her arms around the blonde. When her hands met behind the other girl's back, she pinched herself to be sure that it wasn't a dream, and pushed up on her tiptoes into the kiss. She could feel Quinn slip her arms free and rest lightly on each of her elbows before trailing up the brunette's arms, but when they reached her shoulders, the blonde gently, but suddenly, broke the kiss and pushed her back a few inches. Rachel reluctantly dropped her arms and they dangled limply at her side.

"I'm sorry," the blonde said, her voice shaking as much as her body was. "I—"

Rachel tried to give her a reassuring smile; she was grinning like a fool and she knew it so she tried to rein it in. She reached out slowly to take Quinn's hand again and the girl shot back a full three paces.

"I'm sorry. I must be mad after all." Quinn edged her way around the brunette. "Please, just forget this happened."

Her eyes were filled with tears and panic and Rachel wanted to grab her by the hand and make her stay; she wanted to explain so many things and let the girl know everything would be alright. It wasn't a good idea for the blonde to leave now in the state she was in and she wanted to tell her everything. Rachel wanted to tell Quinn that she loved her and they could go to New York together—that they could go tonight if she wanted. There was no time for that because the minute the blonde was out of arm's reach, she bolted for the door and was halfway down the stairs by the time the brunette reached the hallway.

* * *

Rachel's eyebrows knitted together in her sleep; she was having a horrible nightmare after her fathers had given her a strange concoction to help her sleep. She had suspected that one of the components of the mixture was alcohol, but it had been several nights since she had been able to sleep a wink. The look in Quinn's eyes after the kiss had been everything the brunette had feared. Somehow she knew the revulsion the other girl had felt was more triggered at herself, but that didn't make it any better. Neither of the girls had gone to class the next day, which Rachel knew from Kurt, and her fathers had even allowed her to skip the day after that when she told them all that had happened. She could tell they were worried; the issue seemed to be cropping up every week in the little settlement and that made them wonder if they would have to move again so soon.

Her nightmare, like most nightmares, had started out as a dream. She and Quinn were sitting on the bridge with their fingers intertwined as clear water washed over their feet and ankles. It was warm and peaceful; Rachel could smell the honeysuckle growing along the roadside as she gazed into the perfect hazel eyes of the girl she loved and loved her in return. The blonde leaned forward as if to whisper a secret and their lips connected softly. When she drew away, the sky had gone dark and the water turned to mud; their legs became stuck and the sound of angry voices echoed all around them. The hazel eyes glazed over and changed, turning into bottomless black orbs, as Quinn pushed her down into the hungry pool of muck. As she fought keep her head above the surface, a mob of angry men, all of which looked like Mr. Fabray, descended upon them. Their rough hands grabbed her from the mire and dragged her along the road as they pulled her away from Quinn. The Alehouse was on fire and they hoisted her above their heads, throwing her into the burning building, through the front window.

Rachel was soaked in sweat and gasping for air when she woke up, still shielding her face from the flames that weren't there, and she could swear she heard the sound of the front window shattering. She hurried over to the pitcher and poured a glass of water. She gulped it down quickly and filled it again, this time taking smaller sips as she tried to calm her nerves.

"It was just a dream," Rachel assured herself. "It wasn't real."

She could still hear the sound of shattering glass and she took another large gulp of water.

"Just a dream," she repeated to herself.

Rachel covered her head as the sound of breaking glass sounded closer and she felt something crash into her; she stooped down to pick up the object—a large rock—and realized this was no dream. The stone had come through her bedroom window and she instantly pressed herself against the wall. Outside, she could hear gunfire and the sound of several horses protesting the alarming sound. She craned her neck to get a look at the street, but did not attempt it for too long; another rock hurtled through the already broken glass and she screamed and made a dash for the door. Once in the hallway, she could see that the first floor was littered with debris and several men with their faces hidden were stomping around the room, overturning tables, and generally causing as much destruction as possible. Rachel screamed again, which alerted them to her location, and dropped to her knees. She stayed as close as she could to the wall as she crawled toward the storage room; she could hear heavy footsteps on the stairs as she pulled the door shut and huddled on the floor as far back as possible. The jingle of spurs grew louder as they approached down the hallway; the brunette covered her mouth to stifle the shrieks that came with every deafening boom as someone kicked in every door they passed. The door rattled as someone's boot collided with the storage room door; they let out a loud string of curses and yanked the door open. Rachel flailed as the man, most of whose features were covered by a dirty bandana, reached in and drug her out by her legs. Once on the carpet, she tried to right herself and get to her feet, but the man was too strong; he grabbed her by the back of her head and she wailed as she jerked her up into a standing position.

"Quit your caterwauling or I'll have to really hurt you." He chuckled.

Rachel reached back, desperately trying to scratch at him, and he shoved her forward, nearly sending her over the banister, and pinned her arms behind her back. Bent over the railing, she could see LeRoy tied up on the stage and Hiram limp on the floor behind him. She screamed again and the man twisted her arm as she pulled her back.

"I said stay quiet," he growled. "They said she had a voice, didn't they boys?"

Laughter erupted from the men in on the first floor and in the hall. The leader laughed for a second and then twisted her arm back further; she bit down on her lower lip and whimpered as she tried not to cry out again.

"Well don't just stand there, get back to work!" he bellowed and the men all jumped and set back to their tasks.

Some were collecting all the alcohol from the bar while other's raided the store rooms; the rest seemed bent on nothing more than upending furniture and breaking anything they could get their hands on. The man yanked her back so that her arms were pinned between her back and his body and snaked his free arm around neck as he walked her painfully down the hallway and to the stairs. LeRoy was yelling from down stairs and his eyes were locked on them until they stepped out of view.

"You let her go!" her father was demanding loudly. "Whatever you want you leave her out of this."

There was a sickening thud and silence that made Rachel cringe; she was shaking violently, which only seemed to make the ring leader spasm with laughter.

"You know why we picked you?" he said maliciously. "Because no one's gonna care; this town doesn't want you. Most of 'em wish you'd pack it up and haul off and the ones that don't—well, they don't matter that much."

He paused and withdrew his arm from around her neck and slightly loosened his grip on her wrists as he whispered uncomfortably close to her ear.

"All the ones that matter; they wish you'd just have yourself a little accident," he hissed and her stomach lurched at the cold blooded tone and its implication.

With that, he let go of her arms and gave her a hard shove, sending her headlong down the stairs, and she tumbled to a stop against the handrail on the first landing. Rachel groaned as she rolled over and tried to pull herself up; her ankle protested and her head was throbbing. The clinking of spurs started up again as he made his way slowly down the stairs towards her; she shrieked again and struggled towards the steps to get away from him.

Gunshots sounded outside and a man rushed in through the doorway, now devoid of its doors. "Boss, we gotta go."

"In a minute!" the boss shouted, though most of the men were now rushing out to their horses.

"I'm tellin' ya boss, we gotta go!" The man repeated before disappearing back out the door with many of the others.

"Yeller bellies!" The leader chuckled, seemingly unworried. "There's plenty of time."

He squatted down only inches from Rachel's face and she scurried back as fast as she could. The man's eyes squinted, no doubt from a sneer, and reached down to his boot. The blade glinted in the dim lamp light and suddenly she was too scared to even scream; the sound caught in her throat and her blood ran cold.

"Now, I'm not gonna use this if I don't have to," he said sternly. "That'll all be up to dear old dad. I'm just gonna ask him what the combination to the safe is and you're gonna help me ask. Alright?"

As he reached forward, a shot rang out, and he ducked as the bullet lodged in the wall behind him.

"Next one's in your head," a boy shouted from the doorway. "I'm an excellent shot, so you would be wise to do exactly as I say. The sheriff will be here any moment."

"Will she now?" the man asked cockily. "You're new around here, aren't you?"

The boy took a step closer and steadied the gun. "You'll start by backing away from the young lady, and if you are very lucky, I won't have to shoot you in front of her."

"Easy there, cowboy," the man chuckled, though he did back away from Rachel as he stood up, "I don't like people who aim guns at me and you wouldn't want to be on my bad side."

The leader was making his way slowly down the steps.

"Well, I'm not exactly concerned with what side of you I'm on," the stranger responded coolly. "But you need to decide, do you want to go in a cell or in the ground."

"Big words from a little man with a little gun," the man spat back.

Gun fire was sounding outside and the boy took a few steps forward; Rachel saw Mr. Hummel rush past the window and in through the door. The stranger glanced back for a moment and that was all the leader needed; he hurled the knife forward and made a mad dash for the back door. The boy fired, but missed, and Burt chased after the fleeing criminal. The stranger made his way quickly to Rachel's side and helped her up.

"Are you alright, miss? How badly are you hurt?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Rachel stammered. "I'm fine; it's just my ankle. Are my fathers—is my father and uncle alright?"

She leaned against the railing for support while he climbed up on the stage to investigate. The minute of silence felt like an eternity and she eased herself down the rest of the steps and around to look for herself.

"It's alright," he assured her quickly. "They're out cold and no doubt a doctor should attend to them, but I'm sure they will be alright."

"Thank you," she breathed as he helped her up onto the stage. "Who are you?"

A blonde haired boy stopped in the doorway and gasped for air; Sheriff Sylvester followed lazily behind him.

"Jesse!" he called. "I found the Sheriff and some of us and the townsfolk got some of them. They've taken them to the jail already."

"Good work, Sam," Jesse responded before taking Rachel's hand politely. "My name is Jesse St. James, miss, and despite the awful situation, I am pleased to meet you."

* * *

A knock at the door woke Rachel from yet another nightmare; she sat up and breathed a sigh of relief as she tidied her hair.

"Come in," she called.

"Thought I would save your fathers the effort of bringing you your breakfast," Jesse said brightly as he carried in the tray.

Rachel giggled and scooted further up against the headboard.

"I'm not bedridden, you know; it's nothing more than a sprained ankle and," she began lightly, pretending to be offended by the insinuation that she was helpless.

"A freshly reset shoulder, sprained wrist, and several nasty bruises," he prattled on, giving her a wink as he finished the lecture. "But I suspect there may have been some brain damage that the good doctor simply overlooked."

The brunette carefully crossed her arms, but was still unable to hide the flinch of pain from her left arm and sighed.

"Very well," she conceded. "But I do believe that I can manage to feed myself."

Jesse smiled as he sat the tray lightly on her lap and backed away with an exaggerated bow. She laughed and picked up the cup of tea, rewarding his theatrical display with one of her own as she pretended the effort was exhausting.

"Are you walking me to class as well tomorrow?" she teased. "You may have to carry me."

"I suppose my father would allow me to help oversee the building a little later than planned. After all, I wouldn't be missing much and the old man still knows how to bark orders every bit as well as when he were my age, and it is for the good of a lady after all," Jesse replied with another wink.

"I was only joking," she assured him and they settled into silence as she ate.

Rachel could see him scanning her room; his eyes rested on the boarded up window and she was fairly sure that he was calculating the best course of action to fix it properly. Jesse had been over several times since chasing the outlaws out of the store; many of the other townspeople had helped as well, managing to detain three of the gang, and Mr. Hummel had been leading several of the townsmen out daily in search of the rest. The boy seemed drawn back to the Alehouse every time there was a lull in work on the school building down the street and Rachel was grateful; he had rescued her and her family and his presence made her feel safe. Jesse was a good friend as well; he talked about the city they had come from where their business was based, and she was honestly considering joining their wagon train when they returned to New York once all the work was done. Many of the workers that had come with them were staying, but there were a few who simply worked for the St. James's and she was sure they would not mind a few extra travelers on the return trip as long as they pitched in.

"Thank you again," she said as she finished her meal.

"No trouble at all, my dear," Jesse said lightly as he picked up the tray again.

"For everything," Rachel clarified. "I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't—" The words trailed off and she caught herself blushing.

"I was simply the first one inside," he commented. "But I'm very glad that I was."

The brunette didn't feel, or look, convinced; the ring leader's words still weighed heavily on her mind and were only reinforced by the fact that a stranger had be the one to give her aid. She shook her head and reminded herself that good people like the Hummels, Changs, and Mr. Schuester had been outside fighting to help them as well, but she couldn't help but wonder how many of the families in town would have been just as glad to see them robbed and murdered.

"I hear that the three in custody have yet to divulge any useful information," Jesse stated. "Which I find hard to believe; Sheriff Sylvester strikes me as a force to be reckoned with, so they must be very hardened men indeed."

"I don't think the sheriff is overly concerned with catching them," Rachel said bitterly. "She didn't seem in any hurry to stop them that night."

"Then it's a good thing that I was inspecting the layouts for the school when I was," he commented.

"Yes, it is." Rachel smiled as she tried to brush away the unsettling thoughts.

There was another knock at the door and Rachel called for them to enter; she was surprised to see Brittany enter cheerfully with Santana slowly following behind her. The other brunette looked angry, but then again, she usually did, and Rachel wondered for a moment if Quinn had said something. Maybe she was here to threaten her, but that didn't make since—she never would have brought Brittany with her for that.

"Oh, your arm!" The blonde gasped and began to tear up.

"My arm is healing wonderfully, Brittany; it doesn't even hurt at all," Rachel lied.

The girl dried her eyes and sat down on the edge of the bed; Santana crossed her arms and took a seat on the ottoman.

"Did they catch them yet?" the brunette asked sharply.

"No, but they're still trying," Jesse spoke and Rachel flushed pink again.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," she sputtered. "Brittany Pierce and Santana Lopez, this is Jesse St. James; he's the one that—"

"He's the hero," Brittany bubbled, batting her eyes a little as Santana shifted uneasily. "Hello."

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he said with a slight bow. "But I wouldn't consider myself a hero. I merely saw a family in distress and did what I thought was right."

"Well look at that." Santana groaned, though it seemed she might be forcing it. "There's another one. You're a bad influence on this town, Berry; before you know it, there'll be nothing but pansies in this town."

"You mean civilized society?" Rachel tested.

The other brunette's nose wrinkled. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean. Like I said, you're ruining it."

Jesse looked uncomfortable and she turned her attention quickly back to him.

"It's alright," Rachel assured him. "I believe I am starting to decipher when she is being serious and when she is simply playing. It takes some practice."

"Who says I'm playing?" Santana snapped.

Brittany giggled and her lover sighed and gave up the charade without another word.

"We wanted to see you," Brittany chirped. "Just to be sure you were alright, but now we have even better news!"

Rachel looked at the blonde, who was now bouncing up and down on the bed, which in all honesty was a little painful for the injured girl.

"What news?" she asked excitedly.

"Guess," Brittany insisted. "It's the best thing that could possibly happen!"

There were many things Rachel wished would happen, none of which she would have been able to guess in front of Jesse. She wished that Quinn had spoken to them and told them she had feelings for her, that somehow she had left her fathers house, or that she was on her way here right now to check on Rachel herself. It was clear that the news wasn't that the outlaws had been caught and she couldn't think of anything to guess.

"I have no idea," she admitted.

"San is going to work here with you!" Brittany said loudly. "Your fathers hired her today after they found out about—"

"Britt," Santana interjected. "She doesn't need details. So yeah, you're looking at the newest evening singer, at least while you're healing up."

The blonde squealed again and Rachel jostled in the bed as she began to bounce excitedly again. It wasn't the worst news she had ever received, but considering the hopes that had been raised, it was nowhere near the best news. She smiled at Santana and congratulated her; she wanted to ask why the brunette needed a new job, but she could tell with one sharp look from her new coworker that this was not the time to ask.

* * *

**So now comes the personal notes; since I didn't want to ruin anything in the chapter.  
**

**DAgron01 - yes I quite agree that with you about Jesse. :)**

**Kale - I really appreciated your feedback, it was useful and I hope the tiny scene of more 'western' was good. **

**And everyone else, thank you so much for your reviews and support; it really means a lot to me. Thanks for reading. **


	10. Chapter 10: People Will Say We

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thank you everyone for your reviews!  
**

**I'm glad that you all seem to still be enjoying the story and I hope this chapter is interesting for you all. **

* * *

**People Will Say We're In Love**

"Young lady!" Russell bellowed from the front door. "What did I tell you about—"

Her father paused for a minute as he stared down the hall; she was all the way to the back door with the scrubbing and he seemed uncertain for a moment. It made sense that he would be confused; she had managed to scrub the entire rest of the hallway in a very short time after leaving the Alehouse. She was sure that was what his current tirade was about. Quinn glanced up, her face numb; she didn't know what expression it bore, but she doubted it was the smile of a dutiful daughter. His footsteps echoed through the hall and his muddy boots came to rest at the bucket in front of her; clumps of dirt and grass littered the freshly cleaned hallway, but that didn't really matter to her now.

"I told you not to speak to that girl or you would regret it!" Mr. Fabray roared.

"I know," she responded evenly. "And I haven't."

"Don't you lie to me!" he raged, stomping his large foot down as he spoke.

"Yes sir," Quinn stated emotionlessly.

"You'd better just be glad your mother isn't here," Russell continued. "So far I've been able to spare her from your many indiscretions."

"Yes sir." She sighed; she couldn't muster the strength to even be angry or scared anymore and she continued scrubbing as though nothing were happening. "Do you want me to clean the dinning room as well?"

The water splashed over her knees and soaked her dress when he kicked the bucket over; it rolled past her and thudded against the back door. Quinn looked up; if she had the energy to laugh, she would have at the sight of his angry red face.

"Are you sassing me?" he bellowed down at her. "Don't you sass me, missy; you know what you've done is wrong and I want to see that you know it."

"I'm not sassing you, father," Quinn said with a shrug as she lied. "And I don't know what I have done."

She let out a gasp as he grabbed her arm and yanked her up on her feet.

"I saw you!" her father yelled in her face. "I saw you come out of that den of iniquity. Don't try to tell me you forgot your classwork because you came right out the front doors."

"Mr. Fabray!" a woman's voice rang out from behind Quinn.

Russell looked past Quinn with an expression of disgust and the blonde turned her head; Santana stood in the doorway, another of Quinn's new dresses draped carefully over her arm, her face set in equal disgust. Mr. Fabray let go of his daughters arm.

"Just drop it off and be on your way," he said flatly.

Santana stepped inside and wedged her way between Russell and Quinn; she handed the dress over to the blonde, but then didn't move.

"Are you alright?" she asked.

"She's fine," he assured her. "This is a simple family matter, so if you don't mind, it's time for you to leave."

Santana didn't flinch; her dark brown eyes searched Quinn's face. "I didn't ask you, I asked her. Is everything alright, Quinn?"

Quinn trembled as she shrugged her shoulders. "Everything is fine. Thank you."

The brunette still didn't move and she rested a hand gently on the blonde's shoulder. In turn, Mr. Fabray rested a rough hand on her shoulder and Quinn felt the girl squeeze at the sudden touch.

"There; you have heard from both of us that everything is fine, now I have to insist that you leave," Russell insisted gruffly.

"Don't touch me," Santana snapped.

The man gave her a hard shove out of the way and Quinn stepped forward, instinctively slapping his hand away from the other girl. Her father's face grew red again and he let out a curse and pushed Quinn against the doorframe of her room. A flurry of Spanish spilled out of the brunette's mouth as she shoved him back, giving him a hard slap across the face, and he lashed out, striking the dark haired girl across the face with the back of his hand.

"Daddy!" Quinn cried, throwing herself between the two. "Please, stop; she'll leave."

"Like hell I'll leave!" Santana hissed.

"I'll leave!" Russell bellowed back, turning on his heel, and heading for the front door.

As he opened the door, he turned again to glare down the hallway, and pointed at Santana. "When I get back, you had better be gone," he demanded, and then pointed to Quinn. "And you had better be in your room or there will be hell to pay."

The door slammed behind him and Quinn sank to the floor.

"Come with me," Santana said, putting her hand out to help her up.

"I can't," Quinn said weakly.

"You're not actually going to stay here and let him throw you around like a rag doll, are you?" her friend yelled. "Don't be stupid."

"Where am I gonna go, Santana?" the blonde asked. "Can your family support another mouth? Because I'm fairly certain he's over at the Pierces' right now demanding they let you go. Besides, if I'm not here, who is he going to take it out on? He's angry, but it will pass, but if he comes back and I'm not here, what then? What if he decides to come after me? No one will take me in, not when he comes to the door worried sick about if I'm okay; they'll think I'm making it up or exaggerating. I have to just ride this out and then—"

"And then what?" Santana snapped back at her. "Wait till he finds another excuse to slap you around? You're pathetic!"

"I am," Quinn mused. "But so are you."

"I'm pathetic?" her friend sneered. "How so?"  
"I saw you," the blonde admitted. "I saw you and Brittany kissing."

Santana took a huge step back and the blood drained from her face.

"I'm not going to tell anyone," Quinn quickly assured her. "How could I? I'm—I—"

She wasn't sure that the other girl could even hear what she was saying; it looked as though Santana was in an intense state of panic, but the blonde dropped her head and made her confession without caring if her friend heard or understood it.

"I'm the same," Quinn whispered, but it felt like she might as well be yelling it at the top of her lungs. "I'm in love with someone too. Someone I shouldn't be and I kissed her."

The brunette leaned against the opposite wall and slid down, mirroring the position that Quinn was sitting in. They sat in silence for a while, both of them contemplating their predicaments, and neither could bring themselves to make eye contact just yet.

"So you are in love with Berry?" Santana finally spoke.

"Yes." Quinn let out a little sob.

The blonde jerked her head up when the other girl started to laugh and her hazel eyes bore into the other girl.

"It's just that we're all so—" the girl wheezed, "well—we're all so fucked aren't we?"

Quinn gasped a little at the language, but the corners of her mouth twitched up; everything was going so wrong, so there was nothing left to do but laugh. Santana's name was being called outside; they recognized the voice as Brittany's, and she jumped up quickly. She reached down and pulled Quinn back to her feet and then, awkwardly, pulled her into a hug.

"If he hits you again, I'll kill him," Santana whispered in her ear before letting go.

With that, the girl disappeared out the back door and Quinn stumbled into the room and shut the door. She dropped the dress that her friend had delivered on a chair and changed out of her wet and wrinkled clothes before slipping into a warm flannel nightgown. The blonde sat on her bed and listened for the sound of her father's return, but after an hour, she ventured under the covers and eventually fell asleep. She was so exhausted from it all and she didn't wake until noon the next day.

* * *

Mr. Fabray vowed that she would not set foot in school for an entire week; her father had said it would be good for her—it would give her time to think about her future. Quinn realized it was more than that, of course, and that he was showing her how short a leash he could keep her on if he chose to. Her mother fussed about how pale she was, how the rims of her eyes were always an angry shade of pink, and about how she seemed to often fall into an inexplicable daze, but Quinn shrugged it off and Russell assured her that it was merely a physical malady that would pass in time. She helped her mother mind the store while her father spent most of his time with Mr. St. James and she listen to Judy bubble on about the inevitable proposal and wedding plans without interest. Quinn refused to talk about the Hudsons, dresses, or what season would be the most perfect for the ceremony, and in time her mother seemed to at least pick up on the fact that she would get more conversation from her daughter if she spoke of other things. So they spoke of standard town gossip, of which there was plenty, but it always lead back to romance in one way or another, as though Judy were trying desperately to get a spark of some kind ignited in Quinn.

They talked about how Tina and Mike would make a very powerful paring; his father was a prominent town judge and her father being the new owner of the bank. Her mother giggled excitedly that young Miss Jones had taken to a certain young man who had arrived with the wagon train and that now not a Sunday went by that Samuel Evans was not sitting in the front pew beside her. Judy hinted that Sugar, whom she always talked about dismissively, was behaving far too boldly around Finn, but that he was being a true gentleman and obviously only had eyes for Quinn. Her daughter would roll her eyes and assume that the other girl's affections were merely going over his head the same way so many other obvious things did. The blonde's ears did perk up a bit when Judy commented that Santana Lopez seemed to be pursuing Mr. Anderson and that the Hummel boy and Brittany were often seen together; she would smile and comment on what a good pairing the four of them made. It was the least she could do to reinforce their cover.

Then Quinn would let her mind wander. Could their façade work, and if so, could it work for her as well? She didn't know how Rachel felt about what had happened—the unplanned, unintended, and probably unwanted kiss. Could the brunette feel the same way as she did? Her hazel eyes would rest on some far away object and she would forget where she was for a moment. The blonde would let herself dream for a few moments that her feelings were returned and—more dangerous still—she would let herself imagine a place of their own where they could simply be together without interference. A warm afternoon on the porch, watching the sun set when their hands folded softly together, and she knew that they would need little more than to look into each other's eyes with an understanding of what the other was thinking – that their life was good. Her mother would pull her reluctantly from that comfortably hazy world with a laugh and a jibe about young girls in love; it was true, but as Quinn nodded along, she knew the bobbing of her head was only a half truth. At dinner her mother would chatter about how her daughter blushed like a bride already and about the plans they, meaning she, had made that day. Quinn comforted herself that it seemed to sooth her father's temper and she intended to allow him to think of her as reformed. Perhaps then he would even allow her to return to school.

As beautiful as her daydreams were, Quinn's nightmares were growing worse every night. Tonight she was standing on the balcony of the Berry Alehouse and Inn with Rachel's head rested lightly on her shoulder. Music drifted through the air so clearly it seemed almost tangible and it vibrated around them and inside them as though it passed through Rachel and into her, connecting them perfectly and completely. The sound of a gunshot fired in the distance and the melody scattered away into silence, taking the sunlight and warmth with it, and was replaced by the crackle of fire from torches. Rachel's warm brown eyes turned cold as though they were icing over as Quinn watched, and the brunette seemed utterly unaware of the crowd that was quickly converging upon them. She wanted to run, but could not get the other girl to move with her; Rachel remained stone still until the first rough hand of the crowd came down on Quinn's shoulder, and with that touch, the brunette melted away, fading from her grasp as though she had never been there at all. The blonde kicked and screamed; she scratched at the featureless faces that pressed in around her and drug her backwards down the stairs. A familiar laugh, light with a menacing echo, sounded around her and her hazel eyes darted every which way for its source, but never found it. As they pushed her through the doors and into the street and then rounded the corner with her in tow, the fence line to the cemetery came into view; a lone man was digging a grave and as she squinted into the darkness, she realized it was Finn. The faceless masses pushed her ever closer to the gaping hole he had dug and he smiled at her with his usual dopey grin.

"You'll love it here," he said proudly, as though he had just finished making something magnificent, and held out his hand to her. "I'll make you so happy. I love you."

"I don't love you," she screamed, but the words never actually left her throat. "I never loved you."

With that, she felt the final shove and her feet slipped over the edge of the grave.

Quinn sat bolt upright in bed; she could feel the sweat standing out on her forehead and her heart pounded in her ears. She was panting and shaking as she wiped it from her brow and began to ease herself back down in bed.

"A guilty conscious always leads to unpleasant dreams," Russell spoke suddenly. "The devil always takes his toll."

She was instantly sitting up straight again, her eyes peering into the darkness of her room, as she searched for her father. As Quinn's eyes adjusted she could make out his silhouette and she let out a little gasp. Had her throat not been so parched it would have been a scream.

"What are you doing?" Quinn asked, barely able to hide the malice in her voice.

"What any good father would do," Russell replied lazily. "Giving up my well earned sleep for the betterment of my daughter's soul."

She wondered for a moment if she spoke in her sleep; if she had called out anyone's name or given away any damning information. Mr. Fabray seemed calm, so she had to assume that wasn't the case.

"Did I wake you?" Quinn asked timidly.

"No," he answered. "I've been here for a while. Praying."

The flesh on her arms tingled and crawled at the thought of him watching her sleep. She wanted to ask how long this had been going on; how many nights.

"And I will continue to do so until you are set right again," Russell continued. "Now, go back to sleep; tomorrow is a big day. We have been invited to dinner at the Hudson Ranch."

Quinn shifted uncomfortably; the idea that she was expected to be able to fall asleep again seemed preposterous.

"Sleep," her father said sternly.

"I can't," Quinn protested. "The nightmares—"

"Are God's punishment." Russell nodded gravely in the darkness. "They will stop when you have repented and are forgiven. Perhaps tomorrow I will get the sign I need to know that you have made right with the lord."

She shuddered and laid back down in bed, but her eyes refused to close; her body trembled as she felt her father's eyes on her, but she didn't feel the judgment of god that he proclaimed—the only judgment she felt was his. The floorboards creaked and she held her breath as she hoped Russell was heading back to his room; instead, she felt the bed shift as he sat on the edge close to her head. His large, rough, hand brushed the side of her face before smoothing down her hair and she closed her eyes.

"I want to forgive you, Quinnie," he choked, "I really do. I want my sunny little girl back, but I have to do what's right by the book. How can I love one so rebellious? God will tell me when you've been forgiven and then I can love you again."

She nodded against his hand and waited for him to stand, but he didn't – not until a good hour after she had pretended to fall asleep.

* * *

The dinner the widow Hudson set out for them was practically a feast, but it might as well have been stale bread and water for all Quinn knew; the food slid over her tongue and down her throat without any taste. The blonde was sitting next to her mother and across from Finn. Her father sat at the head of the table and Mrs. Hudson was seated next to her son; the empty chair at the other end of the table had a weather-worn and badly abused looking jacket spread across the back of it—she assumed it belonged to the late Mr. Hudson. Quinn was acutely aware of every glance the adults around the table made between herself and Finn. Her food rested unevenly on top of the nervous knot in her stomach and she sipped her water slowly, hoping to relieve her growing discomfort. Part of her knew that they all expected, or intended, for him to propose today, but for the moment, the boy she had once believed she was in love with seemed content to remain silent as he shoveled food into his mouth. Her cheeks were tinted a faint shade of pink from the tension growing around the table and she hoped her parents' interpreted it as excitement. Knowing what she now knew about how close to the edge her father was, there seemed like there would be no way to turn Finn down—not with them watching. Quinn needed a way to get him alone for a moment before he acted upon his intentions; as angry as she had been with him, she felt that he would understand if she could just make him focus while she explained herself.

She had recited her speech in her head over and over again on the ride to the ranch. Quinn had gone over what must be said several different ways and even now the words she planned to say whirled around in her head while she watched for an opportunity to show itself. Mr. Fabray cleared his throat, catching everyone's attention, and began to make small talk. Her hazel eyes landed back on her nearly empty plate as she tuned out the low rumble of her father's voice. She was busy calculating the odds that Finn would actually stage his proposal at the dinner table.

_What a charming story to tell our children._ Quinn thought dryly to herself. _I asked him to pass the peas and he asked me to be his bride._

She wouldn't put it past him, but she hoped that he would at least wait until the table was cleared; if she were very lucky he would ask to speak with her privately—and she desperately wished to be lucky. Mrs. Hudson invited them to relax on the porch for dessert and, once again, she found herself only half listening as her parents praised the beauty of their land and the craftsmanship of the house.

"Quinn," Finn said quietly before clearing his throat. "Would you, um—"

He stammered to a stop as everyone ceased their conversation and stared at him. She was holding her breath; for a moment she felt like she had forgotten how to breathe at all, while she waited for the hammer to fall.

"Would you like to go for a ride around the fields?" he continued uncertainly.

"Yes," she said, jumping at the chance to get away from their prying eyes.

Finn smiled broadly at her obvious excitement.

"You're not properly dressed to ride." Judy gasped.

"I'm sure I will manage, mother; I'll be careful," Quinn assured her.

"But surely—" her mother protested.

"It's just a dress, Judy," Russell interrupted. "If it tears, we will have it mended. Let the young people have their fun."

Mr. Fabray gave his wife a quick wink before turning a cold glance to Quinn and motioning for her to follow Finn. She couldn't believe how easily this part of him ebbed and flowed, like the tide, without anyone around them noticing. It was an act, one that used to fool Quinn, but now she could see right through it. Outwardly her father was a jolly and hardy man, but on the inside, he was cold and frail in many ways; the blonde couldn't help but wonder how long he had been this way—or maybe he had always been like that. There wasn't time enough to wonder about it now; her mind was too full of what had to be done.

Quinn followed him into the barn; she was shocked to see Puck readying the horses and she glanced quickly between the two of them.

"They hired me back," Puck explained with a shrug. "I guess after the big news, Finn decided to forgive me."

"We've been friends a long time." Finn nodded. "It seemed silly to hold a grudge when all he really did wrong was having a crush on you. I mean—who could blame him? But that's all in the past now."

Puck nodded back at him, a little sadly, but it didn't take long for his usual cocky grin to spread back across his face. "Besides, where would you be without me? You'd be branding the cattle backwards. This place would fall apart without me and you know it."

Finn patted him roughly on the shoulder as he took the reins from his friend; she was glad to see that they had patched up their friendship. Quinn could check that off of her list of things she felt guilty for.

"Whatever you say." He chuckled as he led the horses over to her.

Quinn took the reins of the dark chestnut appaloosa and gingerly slid her hand over its nose and up between its eyes as she murmured a hello to the horse; it had been far too long since the last time she had rode. Its eyes were a deep brown, almost human like, and she felt a squeeze in her chest at the memories the warm shading of its eyes invoked. She held the straps firmly in her hand as she eased around to lift up into the saddle, admiring the blanket with spots markings of the animal as she did so, and Finn helped her up. Quinn adjusted the skirt of her dress while he mounted the bay colored morgan she had come to associate with him; it was his favorite—a sturdy horse named Post. Finn waited for her to secure her garment for decency and then urged Post forward slowly and she followed. They kept a leisurely pace as they traveled down the path that led along the outskirts of the ranch's fields. Quinn glanced back to the house before they rounded the first turn that would take them behind storage barn and eventually would take them out of sight from the porch. Mrs. Hudson and her mother had left the porch, presumably to gossip inside the house as they cleared away the dishes from diner, but her father was leaned against their wagon and staring at them as they disappeared behind the structure.

"Thank you for suggesting this," Quinn said pleasantly, trying to set the tone for the discussion that was to come by starting out optimistically. "It's been a long time since I've gotten to ride; I'd forgotten how much I missed it."

"I just needed to clear my head; riding always clears my mind when I'm stressed." Finn nodded. "Guess everyone staring at me every time I opened my mouth kinda got to me."

"I can understand that." She nodded.

She was glad to hear that he was nervous as well; if he was finding the situation uncomfortable, then perhaps he was having second thoughts of his own. At the very least, he seemed uncertain and that was a good place to start.

"How do they expect me to do anything if they are watching me like a hawk?" he groaned. "Like I'm not nervous enough and worried I'll screw everything up."

"Yes," Quinn agreed. "It's hard to say what you need to say when you know everyone is watching you, expecting something from you that you don't know if you are even capable of; like they're willing you to fit into this role that they made for you whether or not you're ready for it."

"Exactly!" Finn replied. "I mean, it's like—it's a big move. I mean, if I do it, then it's real, and that means I'm a man and sometimes I just feel like a kid. I keep thinking about my dad and then it's like—I don't know—I'll never measure up to him even though I want to."

She nodded as she listened to him speak.

"I mean I want to," he continued. "I do, but I don't know, ugh, I'm messing this up."

Quinn tilted her head at him and gave him a reassuring smile. "It's fine. I actually needed to talk to you about something very important."

Finn's eyes went huge for a moment, though she didn't know how what she had said would disturb him so much, and he slowed his horse a little more, so that they were riding more evenly along the path.

"It's just that—about that thing they are all expecting you to do," she began. "I just wanted to say that—"

"Rosy," Finn blurted out as he pointed to the horse. "I wasn't sure if you recognized her or not, but when we were little, your dad brought you along to visit and she'd just been born; you took one look at her coat and demanded I name her Rosy. Her coat was a lot deeper then, it really looked red, and you said that little spot on her back looked like a rose."

Quinn's jaw dropped for a second as she glanced back at the mark he was pointing to on the horse's hind quarters. She smiled as the vague memory played out in her mind; she remembered scurrying to the barn, excited to see the horses and watching Finn playing with Post, only half grown at the time, as he tried to convince the foal to cooperate, but it kept bucking him off. She clearly remembered taunting him that he would never be able to stay on without a saddle and him puffing up his chest and declaring that he could ride bareback; several falls later, he had dusted himself off while she giggled and said that Post needed a break and that he should show Quinn the new foal. She also remembered her with her chin jutted out, stomping her foot, and saying she wanted to try to ride Post, but he had taken her soft little hand in his already calloused one and drug her into the barn, declaring that ladies didn't break horses. The memory made her laugh, but the sound of laughter, so foreign to her after the past few days, brought her back to reality—the present.

"Finn," she said with a little irritation at his blatant attempt to change the subject.

In truth, she was more angry with herself for allowing him to derail her train of thought than anything else, and she set her jaw as she locked eyes with him.

"I'm sorry." He sighed. "It's just—I know what you're gonna say and then I'm gonna say what I'm gonna say and it's gonna hurt your feelings, but I don't mean it too."

She chewed the inside of her cheek while she listened to him ramble; the words of her carefully planned argument were beginning to scatter in the wake of his tone.

"Still," Quinn insisted desperately. "It's something I have to say and if it doesn't change your mind then that is simply the way it is, but I have to be honest with you, Finn."

He slumped a little in the saddle and nodded.

"I don't want to get married," she said softly. "Finn, you're a wonderful man, you really are, but I have to be clear. I do care about you, I do, but I don't love you. Do you understand? I don't love you, but I do want the best for you; that's why I don't want to marry you, because you deserve someone who does love you." Finn's head shot up and his mouth fell open, but she shushed him. "And you can't hate me for helping you on your way to finding that someone."

Quinn needed to study his face, but she couldn't bring herself to look; her eyes refused to follow her orders and they stared straight ahead over the field they were entering.

"Because you love someone else?" he asked, though something in his tone seemed off to her. "Is it Puck?"

"No," Quinn responded quickly. "I am defiantly not in love with Puck."

"Quinn?" he commented and she felt his hand rest awkwardly on top of her hand.

She finally gained control of her face and turned, ready to see his pleading eyes, but what she saw instead was a broad smile taking up much of Finn's face, which was very close to hers since he had to lean over to touch her hand.

"Thank you." He breathed. "I mean it sucks that you don't love me, but I was kind of having doubts myself. I guess I just wanted to believe you still loved me so much that I made myself believe I couldn't live without you, but even after I thought you were still in love with me, I kind of felt like something was off. I thought it was you because you were being so cold, erm, I mean unhappy seeming, but then after my mom and your dad started talking about the proposal and when I was gonna do it and how and the wedding and all that, I realized it was me. I just didn't see a way to back out of it because I thought—well, I thought you wanted it so bad."

"I'm sure my father made it seem that way." The words came out in a sigh and she wasn't completely sure he had heard her.

Finn let out a loud sigh and she felt his relief as an echo of her own; this had gone better than she had ever dreamed it could. Quinn had been half ready to have to chase him down, racing their horses to stop him from rushing to her father and demanding an explanation. It had never crossed her mind that he might be relieved. How could she have known? She hadn't talked to him unless she had to and had listened to his responses even less, but to be fair, there had been many pressing issues on her mind—many of them were still bearing down on her in the wake of her momentary euphoria.

"So are you in love with Sugar then?" she teased as their horses picked up speed.

"What?" He gasped. "No."

"But you've got your eye on someone or your pride would be more hurt," Quinn pointed out.

Finn laughed but nodded. "I wouldn't say I'm in love—I mean I hardly know her; I don't even know how to speak to her, but there is just something about her."

"So," Quinn said tensely, suddenly wondering if it could be Rachel he was talking about. "Are you going to tell me who it is?"

"Are we going too fast? Do you want to slow the horses down?" he dodged, glancing back at her sheepishly.

"No." She laughed, and it was true; if she wasn't so desperate to get an answer, she would have loved to bring them to a gallop. "Stop stalling."

"Well, who are you in love with?" he shot back over his shoulder.

When she didn't answer, he glanced back; her face must have betrayed her because he brought Post to a full stop and turned him around.

"That bad?" Finn asked. "It's not like one of your friend's guys is it?"

She nodded, taking his suggestion, and twisting it into a lie that would properly insulate her, and shrugged.

"I'll get over it," she said with a false sigh, but he didn't seem to notice that it wasn't genuine. "That's why I'd rather not say. You understand?"

Finn nodded gravely, his face falling for a minute before he shook his head. "I don't know her name even."

"Excuse me?" Quinn asked.

"She came with the wagon train and I talked to her a little, but I didn't even get her name," Finn confessed.

She knew he was sharing this information to make her feel better, which was why Quinn felt so guilty for the amused look that she knew was plastered all over her face. He looked slightly hurt at her mirth and she waved it off and assured him that she wasn't mocking him. Simply knowing that he didn't have intentions for Rachel was a relief.

"Well, I will find out what her name is," he grumbled. "Eventually."

"I'll find out for you," Quinn promised. "And I'll get as much information as I can out of her so you will have a proper chance at wooing her."

A huge goofy grin replaced his scowl and he nodded at her.

"Do you mind if we pick up the pace?" she asked with a twinkle in her eye.

Finn paused for a moment and then dipped his head as he made eye contact with her.

"Whoever you do fall in love with and want to stay in love with—well, whoever it is will be really lucky," he commented.

With that, he nodded and urged his horse forward quickly; Quinn sat stunned in place for a moment before digging her heals into her horses side, urging Rosy forward to give chase.

The clopping of Post and Rosy's hooves were slow and soft against the packed earth as they returned to the trail that led back to the ranch. They had stayed out riding longer than either of them had expected and Quinn was just now catching her breath from their playful racing. It had felt good to forget about all her troubles and worries, even if it had only been for a few hours, but now they were slowly creeping back into focus. The house was still blocked by both barns and she cleared her throat.

"Huh?" Finn uttered, turning his head to look at her in the fading sunlight.

"I have a favor to ask," Quinn admitted.

He simply nodded and remained silent; she swallowed thickly and she could feel a hot blush rushing to her face.

"I know this will sound absolutely insane but," she said seriously. "Could you not tell anyone that you're not planning to propose? I promise I will help you meet the girl once you point her out to me. I just need a little time; I need to get through the last month of school without my father finding out."

Quinn glanced up to see his shocked face and she let out a sigh as she prepared to explain further.

"I don't want him to know yet. If he knows, he will try to arrange another marriage and I know I'm not going to marry anyone in town. Please. When they finish the work on the school house, half of the people who came will probably return east. I want to go with them; I could stay with my sister and then maybe I could forget." She stopped and tried to choke back a sob. "Maybe then I could forget who I'm in love with and meet someone else—someone more appropriate."

Finn took a long pause to process all the information she had just given him, but then he nodded.

"Really?" Quinn gasped.

"Yeah," he shrugged, "of course; I mean if you're going to help me, the least I can do is help you a little too. I mean, I already know her family is planning to stay."

"You know her family is staying, but you don't know her name?" She scoffed before she could stop herself.

"Hey," Finn protested. "I'm helping you out, aren't I?"

"Yes, I'm sorry," Quinn apologized. "And thank you."

They rode the rest of the way in silence, both of them lost in their own thoughts. As they rounded the barn, she noticed her dad was still leaned against the wagon and Puck was circling it; it looked as though the boy were utterly confused by something. She couldn't help but wonder if her father had been standing there the whole time with his eyes locked on the path, just waiting for them to return. Finn hopped down and helped her dismount before leading Post and Rosy back to the barn. She waited nervously, not ready to approach her father alone, until he returned and took her arm politely to escort her back to the house.

"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked Mr. Fabray as they came closer.

"Something on the wagon is broken I'm afraid—" her father responded. "I'm afraid we will have to stay the night and fix it in the morning. I'm sorry to impose on you."

"Not at all," Finn said cheerfully. "You're always welcome."

Quinn detected some muttering from Puck; most of it was incoherent, but she did catch a small part of what he was saying. "How in the world could that have just fallen off—doesn't make since—that—where did it even go?"

"So, is there any big news?" Russell prodded, his smiled beaming at both of them; his excitement would have seemed genuine to anyone who didn't know better—anyone but Quinn.

"Not tonight," Finn said sheepishly, leaning in to whisper to him. "I just need a little more time to figure out how to do it just right, you know."

Quinn smiled; she was honestly surprised at how well he was playing it off. She'd never thought of him as quick on his feet, but it seemed he was capable of performing in a pinch. The blonde hoped this sudden stroke of charisma wasn't just a fluke. She pretended she hadn't heard what Finn had said and equally that she didn't hear her father's jolly response.

"Of course, my boy; I understand all about the jitters you must be feeling," Mr. Fabray was assuring him in hushed tones. "There's plenty of time."

"I'll be back in the morning with the part," Puck said with a huff; his voice highly irritated.

"Must have come loose while we were traveling." Russell shrugged. "It's a wonder we made it without noticing."

Puck was muttering about how impossible that scenario was as he headed to the barn; Quinn scanned her father's face, a sick feeling shivered down her spine, but she couldn't see anything hidden there. Not long after Puck emerged on his horse, a stocky black horse that seemed more built for plowing; in the quickly fading sunlight the slash of white on its face and tufts of white above its hooves shone eerily bright. He gave one more disgruntled look towards the wagon before leaning forward in the saddle and compelling the draft horse forward.

"Well, there's nothing to be done about it until morning." Her father shrugged, his voice a little too upbeat for a man whose primary transportation had just been rendered useless. "Best we all get inside."

* * *

She and Rachel were sitting on the bridge with their fingers intertwined as clear water washed over their feet and ankles. It was warm and peaceful; Quinn could smell the honeysuckle growing along the roadside as she gazed into the warm chocolate eyes of the girl she loved and loved her in return. The brunette leaned forward as if to whisper a secret and their lips connected softly. When she drew away, the sky had gone dark and the water turned to mud; their legs became stuck and the sound of angry voices echoed all around them. Her brown eyes, so warm and trusting a moment ago, grew large with fear and Rachel suddenly shrank back from her; Quinn reached out to catch her as she lapsed off the edge and momentarily disappeared under the muddy surface. For that moment, the blonde felt her own lungs fill with the heavy sludge that had sucked the brunette away, and even though she could hear the mob approaching, she could not tear her eyes from the exact spot that Rachel had disappeared. When Rachel emerged, Quinn could finally breathe, but that release was short lived. They were surrounded; the entire group had identical faces. She recognized him, but in the moment his identity eluded her. Their rough hands plucked Rachel from the mire and dragged her along the road as they pulled her away from Quinn. The blonde felt the ghost of their fingers on her skin, the invisible grasp tightening around her arms, torso, and legs even as they faded out of sight. She wanted to follow them, to stop them, but the hungry pool of muck would not release her. Quinn felt the uncomfortable press of hands along her back, as though she were being lifted up, and her head suddenly became dizzy, the sensation of coming to a stop after spinning too quickly for too long. Everything around her was a blur of black and grey with the exception of one flickering light down the road; it was impossibly small and even more impossibly bright. She focused her eyes on it and her legs slid free; Quinn was on her feet and running towards the only speck of hope, but she didn't seem to be moving closer to it at all. She abruptly felt herself thrown to the ground, the shattering of glass ringing in her ears and the scent of burning clogged her nose and lungs. Quinn screamed, and the shriek that left her throat was not her own—it was Rachel's.

Sweat was dripping into her hazel eyes when she woke up, momentarily confused by her surroundings. Her mouth was open and her lips, as well as ever inch of her body, trembled as she told herself it was only a dream—that she was in a guest room of the Hudson ranch and the horrible nightmare wasn't real. Her hazel eyes swept the room and her muscles relaxed; her father was nowhere to be seen and the emptiness of the room comforted her. She listened intently, feeling sure that she must have cried out loud in her sleep, but nothing stirred in the large house. Quinn crept from the bed and tiptoed to the window; she rested her head on the cool sill and sighed. She could not shake the feeling that what had just happened was more than a dream; at the very least, it was a bad omen and she wanted nothing more than some sort of proof that Rachel was alright, but being where she was that was not an option.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! As always feel free to leave a review or PM. Your comments are always welcome and appreciated.  
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	11. Chapter 11: Who Can I Turn To

**You have no idea the steeple-chase it took to get this chapter done. I had all but given up on getting it posted but here it is, on time! Huge thanks to invisimeg for editing quick for me and as always thanks for your amazing comments. *I do not own Glee or Glee characters*  
**

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**Who Can I Turn To (When Nobody Needs Me)**

Santana's voice drifted up the stairs and through the open door of Rachel's bedroom; as she watched Brittany sway along to the song that Miss Lopez was singing, she had to admit, begrudgingly, that her voice was vastly improving. More than anything, it made Rachel want to climb out of bed and join her on the stage; she felt unforgivably cooped up in her room, but her fathers wouldn't hear of her doing much more than walking—aided at all times—to the banister. It seemed ridiculous to her; she wasn't that badly injured. If anything the bed rest that they imposed on her was doing her more harm than good, she was sure of it, and was most likely the only reason she felt lightheaded when she stood to wander the room in secret. Rachel also had a sneaking suspicion that Santana was in league with the Berry men to keep her sequestered in her room; the longer she was healing, the longer the other brunette could control the stage. She definitely wouldn't put it past her.

"Isn't she wonderful?" Brittany bubbled, her swaying no longer caused any painful jostling, further proof that Rachel had healed quite enough.

"She's improving," the petite prisoner said offhandedly.

Santana sounded wonderful, they both knew it, but Rachel wasn't quite ready to admit it; she was far too jealous at the moment to fully complement her. There was plenty to be envious of; after all, Miss Lopez could go wherever she pleased whenever she pleased. She was currently soaking up the admiration of the alehouse as she sang, and Rachel was currently staring at the grandest thing the other woman possessed—love. Brittany craned her neck in the direction that Santana's voice was coming from and her face was the very picture of delight, satisfaction, and unabashed joy.

"You really love her more than anything, don't you?" the brunette said in a hushed and husky voice.

"Of course!" the blonde chirped, feeling no need to restrain her voice. "I'm the luckiest girl in the world."

"Why?" Rachel inquired.

"Because Santana loves me," Brittany answered, quickly giving her patient a confused look. "Did you forget what we were talking about? I do that sometimes."

"No," she huffed back in irritation, "I know what we were talking about. What I was inquiring about wasn't why you are the luckiest girl in the world. The question I was posing to you was why you love Santana so completely in the first place."

"Why wouldn't I?" the blonde responded. "Who wouldn't fall in love with her? She's so warm and beautiful and caring—she's both the strongest and most vulnerable person I've ever met."

"Brittany," Rachel chuckled nervously, "are we talking about the same Santana? Santana Lopez? I understand that she is far kinder to you than anyone else, but caring? Vulnerable? Not to be unkind, and you know that I do like her and have become somewhat accustomed to her more—abrasive manners—but I absolutely do not see those things in her. The woman is like a cactus; no matter how gently I reach out to her, I still come out of it pricked and bleeding."

"Exactly! she's like a cactus." Brittany nodded as though that were the perfect answer.

"That doesn't exactly explain why you love her." Rachel sighed.

"Yes it does," the blonde said cheerily. "I mean, the only reason a cactus has needles is to protect itself because there is so much good stuff under it's skin; she's only hard to get to know because she's so worth getting to know."

Rachel let her mind settle on the fact that the girl she so often considered to be simple had just said something quite profound; she smiled and propped herself up further in bed.

"Let me help," Brittany chastised, but Rachel batted her hand away.

"I think I am quite capable of sitting without assistance." She hadn't meant to become so irritated, but she was so weary of her room; there was nothing to do but think and she was weary of that as well.

"You're cranky." The blond pouted.

"I'm sorry," the brunette immediately apologized. "I just can't stand everyone treating me like I'm so helpless and I'm absolutely bored out of my mind."

"Want me to walk you to the hall or the window again?" Brittany offered brightly.

Rachel shook her head; as much as she wanted to get up, having someone help her wasn't going to make her feel any better—neither would looking down at the stage she was currently banned from or out the window where she might see a certain blonde wandering the street.

"No, but thank you," she said as cordially as she could muster. "I think I'll just walk myself to the vanity and brush my hair for a while."

Before the blonde could say anything Rachel held up her hand to stop her.

"I feel quite certain I can make the three step journey to the ottoman completely unaided, thank you," she said, her voiced edged with determination.

Luckily the girl didn't object, though she did watch the brunette painfully closely as she slid from the bed and shuffled to the vanity.

"Want me to brush your hair?" Brittany asked.

"I have a very specific ritual I go through for it, but thank you anyway," Rachel said with a smile.

She watched Brittany in the mirror as the girl stood and sashayed to the song her girlfriend was singing downstairs. As she pulled the brush slowly through her long dark hair, she let out another drawn out sigh. Rachel needed something to distract her; Quinn was never far from her mind and thinking of the girl only seemed to bring more confusion and frustration. All the time she had suddenly found herself with only served to twist her memories of the last time she had seen the blonde. The night she had burst into her room Rachel had known that the look of shock and disgust was directed at herself, not the brunette, but as time passed, the petite girl had begun to wonder if perhaps the look in those hazel eyes had been meant for her after all. Maybe the kiss had been a test; if it were then she had certainly failed it, and Quinn had been hoping that Rachel would push her away. The blonde might have only kissed her to determine what the appeal of such a kiss would be; in some strange way, trying to see things from Britt and San's point of view. If that were the case, it clearly hadn't been enjoyable for her. Her mind had raced around to see the kiss and it's meaning from every possible angle. She had torturously dissected every second, every move, in great detail to decipher what had gone wrong, but every answer brought only more questions.

Rachel let out an exasperated groan as slammed the brush down loudly; in the mirror, she saw Brittany jump. The brunette needed a distraction.

"Brittany," she said lightly. "You never did tell me why Santana came here looking for work. I would have thought she would have plenty of work to do at the tailor's shop."

"She likes it better here anyway," the blonde answered, her face clearly announcing that she was skirting the issue.

"Even though she could have you all to herself if she were over there?" Rachel tested. "And certainly your parents' cannot be too happy about her postponing her efforts there to be here instead."

"Oh, well," the other girl said quickly. "Mercedes has been training with my mother so they aren't behind. She's not as good as San was at it, but mother says she's as good a replacement as any."

"They replaced her then?" the brunette said pointedly. "Why would they do that?"

"I'm not supposed to say really," Brittany said, squirming a little.

"Alright." Rachel sighed.

"I suppose I would have to tell you if you gave me a really good reason to," the blonde mumbled as she made eye-contact through the mirror.

The brunette's eyebrow raised slightly as watched her friend's reflection bobbing up and down; clearly she wanted to tell, she just needed an appropriate excuse.

"Because I asked?" she tried, frowning when the girl's head began to shake.

"Let me see—because I want to be friends with Santana and I care about her well being?" she attempted again as the blonde tilted her head to ponder her proposal. "Brittany, please. I've been so bored and it's torture simply sitting up here day in and day out with nothing to think about besides how utterly miserable I am. If you want to tell me, then please do, or at least tell me what I am supposed to say because I'm quickly approaching my wits end."

"Mr. Fabray made my parents fire her because she stood up for Quinn," Brittany squealed, her pride obviously overflowing.

Rachel spun around on the ottoman, which caused her to become unreasonably dizzy. Before she could say anything, the blonde was continuing the story.

"San was delivering a dress to Quinn and she heard shouting so she let herself in and Mr. Fabray had Quinn by the arm, yanking her around, and she stopped him. San got right in between them so that he couldn't touch Quinn, but he shoved her and then he shoved Quinn and Santana slapped him across the face and he hit her." The blonde's face turned a bit red as she mentioned the man touching her beloved. "But Santana didn't back down and he left. Rachel? Should I help you back to bed?"

The blood had drained from the brunette's face; she was aware that her mouth was hanging open and her hands, if not all of her body, was shaking with rage. He had struck her! Was that the only time? Had he again since then? She barely noticed when Brittany gripped her elbow firmly as she wrapped an arm around her waist and guided her back to the bed.

"You really love her, don't you?" the blonde asked, her voice making it clear that she already knew the answer. "Quinn's alright, you know? I've been paying extra attention and Lord Tubbington goes over all the time when I'm not home to keep an eye on her too. He would tell me if she wasn't ok."

Her brown eyes fell on the other girl and she tried not to scoff; she knew Brittany was only trying to help. It was a few moments before Rachel realized she was touching her lips, her mind slipping back to that night and the kiss.

"When did it happen?" Rachel asked, feeling an ache growing in her chest.

Both girls jumped when they heard the knock at the door; Brittany smiled brightly as she waved to the girl at the door while Rachel's heart raced, her mind recounting their discussion and how much of it may have been overheard.

"Hello, Rachel," the girl spoke nervously. "I'm not sure if you remember my name, we haven't talked that much. Tina—Tina Cohen-Chang."

"Of course, Tina." Rachel smiled.

"I loved your song last week," Brittany chirped.

"Thank you." Tina nodded shyly as she took a tiny step forward so that she was barely across the threshold.

"Is there something I can help you with, Tina?" the brunette asked, her mind already skimming over songs that would suit the girl's talents.

She couldn't think of any other reason the banker's daughter would be visiting her all of a sudden; far too much had happened since the night of the dance for Rachel to have had the time or energy to try to properly get to know her. She had noticed that Tina's jaw had dropped the first time she was in the audience when Rachel sang—something that rarely happened anymore now that all her classmates were used to hearing her sing. That alone made Tina seem likeable. Perhaps the girl wanted lessons; the thought perked Rachel's spirits up. Tutoring a classmate in the art of vocal control would be a worth task to occupy her time while she waited for the doctor to grant her freedom again. There was only a month left until the new school building was estimated to be completed and she hoped either her physician or her fathers would come to their senses by then so that she wouldn't miss the wagon train on it's return trip.

"I was hoping I could help you," Tina corrected seriously.

Rachel rolled her eyes; it was shocking to her, considering how much she thrived on attention, how exhausted she was of everyone's pity.

"That's very sweet of you," she tried to keep her voice light as she spoke, "but you really needn't bother yourself. I have all the help I could ever need already so there's really no need to bother yourself with—"

"About the night you were attacked," Tina interrupted boldly. "I think I might have some useful information about who it was."

The brunette's jaw sagged open and the girl shuffled a little further into the room as she waited for a response.

"Really?" Brittany chimed excitedly once it had become apparent that Rachel was currently incapable of speech.

"I think," Tina stumbled over her words quickly. "I mean I don't know for sure; I don't know many people yet, but I saw, well it looked suspicious and then I talked to Mike about it."

"Tina," Rachel squeaked. "Tina, take a deep breath and start from the beginning."

The nervous girl closed her eyes and did as she was told, taking several deep and shaky breaths, before opening them again and speaking.

"The night before your family was attacked, I had snuck out to meet Mike, which is why I didn't tell anyone sooner," she began her voice sounded a little guilty. "When I was headed home around the back of the bank, I heard voices. I thought they had caught me sneaking around so I crept around the corner and I saw—"

A gunshot fired in the street, causing all three of the girls, who at this point were leaned forward to listen, to scream and nearly jump out of their skin. Sheriff Sylvester's voice sounded loud and aggressive, echoed by the general rumbled of voices from the road below. Brittany darted to the widow, quickly followed by Tina, and Rachel tossed back the covers to join them.

"Don't you dare, Berry," Santana snapped from the doorway. "Chang, keep Rachel in bed."

Tina jumped and did as she was told; Rachel narrowed her eyes at the other brunette as she crossed the room to join Brittany at the window.

"You are most certainly not the boss of me, Santana Lopez!" she grumbled. "I can sit at the window if I please."

"You're staying in bed," Santana replied casually. "If something happens to you, it'll be my ass. I'm not going through the silent treatment again, which makes it my business to boss you as much as I want. Sit! Stay! Good girl."

Her words barely made sense, but Tina rested her hand lightly on Rachel's arm and the girl's eyes begged the brunette not the get her in trouble with Santana. Begrudgingly, Rachel rested back against the head board with a huff.

"May I at least know what is happening outside?" she said dramatically. "Or am I too delicate?"

"If you'd shut up, you could hear what's happening just fine," Santana drawled.

Luckily, Brittany began detailing what was transpiring on the street below, so Rachel decided to back down for the time being.

"Sheriff Sylvester is standing in the street. So is Mr. Hummel. I think he's the one that fired the gun because he has his rifle. San, you should get a rifle," she began.

"Why?" Santana smirked.

"Because you would look so amazing holding one; very attractive," the blonde said lightly.

Both brunettes exchanged nervous glances; Santana trying to hide her pride while Rachel inspected Tina's reaction. The girl next to her seemed not to have noticed the comment in the slightest.

"What's happening?" Tina breathed.

"No one's been shot and lots of people are crowding around them now. Did you notice that this kind of thing always happens in front of your place?" Brittany commented.

"Britt," Rachel groaned.

"Mr. Hummel is trying to make Kurt go inside. Oh, now he's going," the girl continued before a look of confusion crossed her face and her lip stuck out in a pout. "Should I be down there? I'm his girlfriend; is that a girlfriend thing?"

Since the blonde was leaned out the window, Rachel was the only one to notice the split-second look of hurt that crossed Santana's face before the girl glared at her and rolled her eyes.

"No, he wouldn't want you in the middle of all that," she assured her beloved. "Both of us would prefer you safe up here with me."

"Oh! Kurt's back outside and he has a pistol. He doesn't look right holding a gun," Brittany mused as she spoke. "It would suit you much better. Oh good, Blaine is taking him back inside. Sue is in Mr. Hummel's face yelling."

"Shhh, I can't hear what she's saying," Santana whispered softly and the blonde fell silent, much to Rachel's chagrin.

"I told you, Sylvester, to stay away from me and my boy," Burt's voice carried through the window. "You have no call trying to take my family in."

"Well make up your mind there, Burty-boy," Sue oozed. "You're the one insisting I waste my time looking into the attack on the Berry's and I'm here obliging you. So which is it?"

"What do you mean?" Mr. Hummel growled.

"Just what I said," she spat back. "I'm looking into the very unimportant assault on the Alehouse and its owners and it just so happens I'm having myself a surprising amount of fun doing so."

"And what does that have to do with taking Kurt in for questioning?" Burt bellowed. "You have no right to place him under arrest."

"You see this star?" the Sheriff asked. "It means the good people of this here town have given me the right to detain anyone I see fit, and you two are my number one suspects."

"You're crazy!" Mr. Hummel fumed back.

"Nonsense," Sue countered cockily. "You're the one with a big ol' bug up your ass about getting to the bottom of this. God knows I don't care. Then I thought what better alibi than to cause a ruckus to throw everyone off the scent? And when it comes to cracking down on the Hummels—well that's something I can really sink my teeth into so as far as I'm concerned. You reek of suspicion just as much as you reek of sweet and mule droppings."

"Sue, be reasonable," William's voice broke in.

"Sheriff Sylvester!" her voice blared. "This doesn't concern you William. Why don't you run on down to the general store and buy them clean out of pomade or you'll be next."

"You have no proof!" Burt yelled. "That star doesn't give you the right to haul in anyone you don't happen to like and you'll need solid proof and an army for me to let you anywhere near Kurt."

"Horses." the sheriff blurted out.

"What?" Mr. Hummel scoffed. "What about horses?"

"The attackers were riding horses and since you're the only blacksmith in miles, that means that at the very least you've aided them," she said with gusto.

"Miss Sylvester," Miss Pillsbury's voice pitched, "that's hardly proof. After all, he shoes your horses as well, so—"

"Can it owl-face," Sue snapped.

Rachel could imagine her teacher shrinking back, her eyes large and panicked. The brunette craned her neck to try to see out the window, but it was no use—not with Brittany and Santana filling it.

"Answer me this Sue," Mr. Hummel challenged. "What reason would I have? The Berrys are my good friends; you know that, so what would we have to gain?"

"Sympathy," Sue said so casually you could hear the shrug. "Seems to me people haven't been too kind to your boy ever since he was caught trying to hog-tie Mr. Anderson's tongue at the dance. Rumor has it that's the least of the Berrys transgressions, so it makes since you'd want to stir up a little sympathy for them. Well it's not gonna happen, not with Sue Sylvester in charge."

Rachel's heart nearly stopped and all eyes were suddenly on her as the blood drained from her face.

"That's not what happened at the dance and you know it damn well, Sue," Burt yelled. "And as for the Berrys—all you people spreading that bull around ought to be ashamed of yourselves. That family had been through enough already; how many brother-in-laws would sacrifice the way LeRoy has to see that his niece got a proper upbringing? I know all too well how hard it is to raise a child after your wife has passed on; it damn near kills me sometimes, and I have nothing but respect for Hiram. Are you all so bored that you need to create a scandal for entertainment?"

Rachel knew that Mr. Hummel knew the truth; she was utterly impressed with his ability to keep their story straight, especially considering how angry he was. That didn't change the fact that, assuming Sue wasn't making it all up, there were rumors circulating already and her heart was beating at an erratic pace.

"That's telling them," Santana cheered with a smirk. "They look properly bitch-slapped after that."

"Who's that?" Brittany asked as she pointed.

"Mr. Chang," her girlfriend answered.

"It doesn't look like him," the blonde protested. "His hair is all wrong."

"That's because he's not wearing his big judge wig," Santana explained.

"I want a judge wig," Brittany bubbled.

"What's happening?" both girls on the bed pleaded in unison.

"I assume he's here because I told him the Sheriff was grossly abusing her powers," Jesse answered from the doorway. "I implored him to use his power as judge, which outranks her, to remind her of the proper system of law that she is to follow if she wishes to retain her position."

"Nice move, St. James," Santana drawled. "Though I was looking forward to seeing Hummel full on punch Sylvester in the face, but I guess that works too—in a city-slicker sort of way."

"Not everything as to be about violence, Miss Lopez," he said with a bow.

"But it's more satisfying." She shrugged.

"To some, I suppose." Jesse returned her shrug.

"Thank you, Jesse," Rachel breathed. "I can only imagine how this might have escalated."

"Anything for a lady such as yourself, Miss Berry," he said smoothly.

"Sheriff Sue is mad; she's stomping back to the jail-house," Brittany called from her perch on the sill.

There was the sound of glass shattering and Rachel instinctively tensed.

"She's thrown her chair out the front window." The blonde gasped.

"Charming." Jesse scoffed, turning his attention to Rachel again. "It baffles me that you live in such an uncivilized little town. You clearly belong in a world of higher class; New York City, perhaps."

A gagging sound came out of Santana as Rachel smiled back at her friend.

"Ideally I would like to return east, preferably New York, after my classes are finished," she said cordially, ignoring the continued sound of disgust coming from the window.

"Ah," he nodded, "well I could speak with my father about arranging that if you would like."

Rachel spoke past the tight clench of pain in her throat. "I would like that, thank you."

* * *

Once again, Quinn stared down at a blank sheet of paper as she struggled to write a letter to her sister. She needed to contact her sister soon to begin broaching the subject of her possibly visiting her back east; she would need Frannie to support the idea for her father to agree to it. Her sibling's letters were stacked on the desk for her to reference, but still nothing came. The correspondence would have to be perfect. Quinn's eyes kept flitting over to the sheet music neatly organized on the opposite side of the desk. With a sigh she lifted the top page and skimmed over the lyrics of the first song she had sung in class with Rachel.

_We may never meet again  
I have struggled to forget  
But the struggle was in vain  
For her voice lives on the breeze  
And her spirit comes at will  
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still  
In the midnight on the seas, her bright smile haunts me still_

Hazel eyes slipped shut as she hummed the tune, hearing the brunette's voice in her mind. They snapped open again when she heard the front door open and her mother greeting someone excitedly and she let out another sigh. Moments later, the familiar nervous pitch of Miss Pillsbury's voice drifted down the hall. Quinn had witnessed yesterday's spectacle between the sheriff and the blacksmith through the living room window. She remembered that her teachers had attempted to intervene. Quietly, she padded through her parents' bedroom and into the dinning room to listen closer. She was hoping the ruckus from the previous day would be one of the topics her mother and teacher would discuss, and she was in luck.

"Oh, but Mrs. Fabray, the things that Miss Sylvester was accusing were completely nonsensical, and she was so vulgar about it," Emma stammered.

"Well that's just Sue's way, dear," Judy answered with a cluck of her tongue. "And it is her job after all."

"But surely you believe her time would be better spent following real leads," Miss Pillsbury suggested. "For her to consider more logical options first?"

"I'm sure if she suspects the Hummels, there must be a reason for it," Mrs. Fabray said dismissively. "She has to start somewhere. What other leads would she have?"

The living room filled with silence and Quinn pressed her ear to the wall.

"Well?" her mother inquired.

"Well, there are some rumors circulating," the redhead said slowly. "I don't want to believe that they are true, but if the sheriff is going on nothing more than rumors then—"

"What rumors?" Judy gasped.

"There are some people who seem to think that the newcomers have something to do with it." Emma sighed. "I suppose that's normal; people don't know them well, but I've already begun teaching some of their children and they seem like really nice people. But some think it's suspicious that the attack occurred so soon after they arrived."

"That's ridiculous," Mrs. Fabray chuckled, "they were some of the first ones to intervene. Why ever would they do such a thing?"

Quinn inched closer to the hallway to better hear her teacher's timid response; the redhead was mumbling and stammering so much that was missing some of what she was saying.

"—which would make them look like heroes," Miss Pillsbury was saying. "It's far fetched, I know, and I'm not in a hurry to believe it myself, but they have started nearly doubling the work now that they are repairing the Inn as well as building the school. So, I believe that is where the rumor is coming from."

"Foolishness!" Judy exclaimed. "I'm glad you're not joining them in that assumption. They would have no reason what so ever to risk being caught doing something like that; we've made them nothing but welcome since the day they arrived. Don't forget that young Mr. St. James saved the girl just in the nick of time."

"I didn't say that I believed it," Emma assured her. "Merely that it is a theory floating around town and that if Sue were truly interested in investigating—"

"If you ask me," Mrs. Fabray interrupted again. "If they were trying to empress us, they would have burned that building to the ground—what was that?"

Quinn froze, her fist had slammed into the doorframe in angry response to her mother's words, and she held her breath as the side of her hand throbbed.

"You can't really mean that Mrs. Fabray," Miss Pillsbury asked after several moments of uncomfortable quiet.

"I suppose not." Judy sighed. "It wasn't very Christianly of me to say, but it's no secret that many here in town would love to see them pack up and leave. I find it disturbing that people are passing around such awful gossip about our new friends."

"Well, it's a sad situation all around," Emma replied.

"Frankly I think they are making this whole ordeal out to be more than it is." Mrs. Fabray huffed. "It's not as though the girl is that badly injured, and as you pointed out, the building is being repaired."

"The injuries must have been quite severe; Rachel has been confined to her room," the teacher informed her.

Quinn peeked around the doorframe, her face ashen and hazel eyes wide, and the redhead's eyes budged as she pressed a finger to her lips behind her mother's back.

"But I also hear she is healing well," Emma reiterated for Quinn's benefit. "And Jesse visits her daily. He assures me she will be back on her feet in no time."

The blonde mouthed a thank you to her teacher before ducking back out into the hall.

"Well see there? Then what is all the fuss about? You say St. James sees her every day?" Judy clucked her tongue several times before continuing. "Well, I suppose he would develop some sort of feelings for her, saving her life and all that; I can't say that I whole-heartedly approve. Then again, if he does fancy her, maybe he will take her back east when they are done with their work. What a mercy that would be. That girl has been nothing but trouble."

Quinn could hear Miss Pillsbury tentatively arguing with her mother as she tip-toed back down the hallway to her room. The blonde flung herself on the bed and smothered a scream with her pillow before hurtling it across the room. She slid from the bed and hugged her knees to her chest as she breathed deeply through her nose. Quinn knew she needed to be on good terms with the St. James's if she hoped to join them on their return journey, but that would be difficult knowing what she knew now.

She wondered if it could be true; could the newcomers have staged an attack on the Berrys so that they could rush in to save the day? It could accelerate their status in New Lima, but had they done it? As unlikely as it seemed, Quinn was thinking back to the last time their town had experienced any violent disturbances and it seemed like forever. The bank had been robbed several months before the Berrys had arrived; Mr. Puckerman, the bank owner at the time, had gone missing, presumed dead. Beyond that tragedy, nothing had happened in New Lima since; things had been peaceful until the St. James's and newcomers had arrived. What kind of name was Jesse anyway? It sounded more like a nick-name than a proper man's title.

A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts and her mother peeked inside.

"Quinnie," Judy said lightly. "I need your help in the kitchen. Your teachers are joining us for dinner."

"I'll just freshen up and be right out," she stated dryly, still begrudging her mother from the statements she made earlier.

"Alright, dear," her mother said cheerfully before closing the door.

"Why would they choose the Berrys?" Quinn mumbled quietly as she smoothed her hair in the mirror.

For a moment, she envisioned Jesse St. James leering at Rachel on the street while he plotted the attack and rescue that would solidify him as her hero. As ridiculous as she knew the thought was, her cheeks still flushed brightly.

"Father!" She gasped. "Of course; all he talks about is how much he hates them, but they'd been around town long enough to know that not everybody agrees. That alone would make the Berrys the perfect target."

"Quinnie!" Mrs. Fabray's voice cut through the buzzing in her mind.

"Coming!" Quinn called back.

Moments later, she was in the kitchen chopping angrily at carrots while her mother entertained Miss Pillsbury in the living room. Mr. Fabray's booming voice sounded cheerful as he opened the door and Quinn's face reddened instantly. When they had returned from the Hudson ranch, she had found out about what had happened at the Alehouse and Inn; her father had all but locked her in her room and all talks of the event were banned within the house. Mercifully, she had been allowed to return to class, but despite being a mere hallways length away from Rachel, information was still hard to come by. It was nearly impossible to discern fact from gossip and speculation, and her teachers both had strict instruction not to let the blonde visit the injured girl.

"Finally, your father is home so I can concentrate on dinner," Judy said warmly as she slipped on an apron. "He and Mr. Schuester can entertain Miss Pillsbury, though I do hope she had the presence of mind not to bother him with idle gossip and rumors."

"I'm sure father will let her know the rules," Quinn grumbled with a shrug.

"What, dear?" her mother hummed distractedly.

"Nothing, mother," she assured her.

"I feel like we haven't talked in ages, Quinnie," Judy sighed, "and you haven't' written to your sister in ages."

"I was just working on a letter earlier today, but I've been distracted lately I guess," the blonde said lightly.

"I understand," Mrs. Fabray nodded, "but you really should write to her about all the good news. So much is happening, Quinn; so many exciting things and I'm sure she would love to hear about them from you."

"What is marriage like?" Quinn asked suddenly.

"Well," Judy stammered. "Well it's wonderful, dear."

It was obvious that her mother was surprised, and thrilled to be on the topic of marriage at last. Mrs. Fabray had grown accustomed to her daughter skirting the issue.

"And you love father?" she asked.

"Quinnie, don't be silly." Judy laughed. "Of course I do. What a question to ask."

"So, I should be in love with the person I marry?" the blonde ventured.

Her mother was silent for a moment as she worked her jaw; she dumped the carrots into a pot and chuckled.

"You're acting so queer, Quinn," Mrs. Fabray said tightly. "If you are joking with me, I'm afraid I do not get it. Yes, when you are married, you love your husband."

"But what if I'm not sure that I love Finn?" she asked quietly.

Her mother's chuckling stopped and she dropped the lid down noisily on the pot.

"Mother?" Quinn said desperately. "What if?"

"You're simply nervous, Quinn," Judy snapped quietly. "Nervous and frustrated because he hasn't asked yet; even after your father prolonged our stay at the ranch to give him more time to act upon his intentions. I understand, darling, but you just have to be patient. Men move at their own pace and there is no use rushing them."

"But I mean," Quinn groaned, "what if I don't think I ever—"

"Then you will," her mother snapped again before lowering her voice. "You'll have your entire future to nurture the love that I know is in your heart for him."

Judy was looking at her as though she had betrayed her, as though at some point in her childhood Quinn had promised to be exactly as they willed her to be. The blonde felt like a bug under her mother's disgusted glare.

"I think I should visit Frannie before the wedding," Quinn commented frantically.

Mrs. Fabray nearly had whiplash from the sudden change of subject. "What?"

"Well," she began lightly. "Once the school house is finished, I could travel safely with the St. James's to see Frannie back east. After all, once I'm married, I won't have an opportunity to travel to see her, and I've missed her so. Then perhaps they could escort me back and attend the ceremony, which would mean so much to me. I think if I could see her life with her husband, it would help me understand more. Don't you agree?"

Just like Quinn's dutiful-daughter-mask was back on and the spell was cast, there was light in Mrs. Fabray's eyes and warmth in her smile again.

"Oh that would be wonderful," Judy beamed, "but we will have to ask your father. Not tonight, though; not in front of guests."

"Of course." Quinn nodded as she smiled painfully.

"I'm sure he will love the idea, Quinnie," her mother assured her as she hummed her way through the rest of their work.

"Oh, I hope so," she said wistfully.

* * *

It was late on Saturday night when Brittany knocked cheerfully at Quinn's back door; the Fabrays were in much better moods these days, so they did not object to their daughter having company. Brittany sat at the end of Quinn's bed with the latest secret book tucked under her arm.

"I really liked this one," she said happily as she handed it over.

"Did you move the bookmark?" Quinn asked as she stared down at a sentence that didn't make much sense.

"I dropped it on the way here, so I had to guess," Brittany said bashfully.

Quinn sighed and sat the book down between them; she rubbed her temples lightly and forced a smile.

"I don't really feel like reading tonight anyway." She sighed.

"Okay, that's good, so we can talk seriously," Brittany said in a shockingly stern voice.

An eyebrow perched high over a hazel eye at the unusual tone of her friend.

"We have something to talk seriously about?" she asked.

Brittany nodded gravely as she leaned forward and whispered. "You have to go see Rachel."

"You know that I can't." Quinn shook her head.

"But you have to!" her friend squeaked. "She doesn't believe me when I say that you love her too, so you're going to have to do it."

Quinn paled and stared down at her hands; a slow blush was creeping over her ashen cheeks.

"Too?" she breathed. "Rachel said that she loves me?"  
"She doesn't have to." Brittany shrugged. "San and I can see it plain as day."

Her shoulders sagged. "Maybe you two are just seeing what you want to see."

"If I were hurt and stuck in my room, Santana wouldn't let anything keep her from seeing me." Her friend pouted. "It's not fair."

"Life isn't fair, Britt," she shot back. "We don't all have parents that are willing to overlook the obvious or boys to hide with, and I don't know that Rachel loves me the way you know that Santana loves you."

Quinn tried to ignore the hurt in the other girl's blue eyes; she'd never snapped at Brittany before. She'd always been content to leave the girl safe and sound in her little dream world, but this was too much.

"So you're just going to marry Finn?" Brittany sighed. "San was right."

"I'm not marrying Finn," Quinn whispered. "I just need my parents to think that so they will let me 'visit my sister back east' and then I will disappear and forget about all of this. Which reminds me—what do you know about one of the new girls named Marley?"

"She's fun," her friend said cheerfully. "But all she does is talk about Finn."

"Perfect." She hummed.

"You're leaving?" Brittany pouted again. "When?"

"When the St. James's go back to New York," Quinn answered. "My parents think that I will be stopping in Ohio, but I'm not."

"Then you're going with Rachel!" her friend bubbled. "She's going to New York too! You have to go tell her!"

"Ssshhh," she hissed. "It's not that simple, Brittany. What kind of life do you think we would have together?"

"It'd be better than the life she'd have with Jesse," Brittany mumbled. "We were going to go with them too, but now we have to wait for Kurt and San to save up enough money for us to get started. San insisted that we have to be prepared, but I think it's mostly that she doesn't like Jesse and doesn't like seeing him make oogly-eyes at Rachel."

Quinn paled again; she could feel a cold sweat seeping through her pores. She tried to tell herself that it was for the best; he and his family could provide for the brunette better than a destitute girl on the run from her family, alone in city of strangers with no real future ahead of her. The blonde wanted to be lost; she wanted to fall between the cracks of society and disappear. To be nameless and faceless in a sea of people where she could be alone with her pain; it was the best she could hope for, but Rachel was a star, and stars don't hide their light from the world.

"Brittany," Judy said brightly from the doorway. "It's getting late and it's time for you to go home."

The girl snatched up the book and tucked it under her arm before patting Quinn lightly on the hand.

"Think about it, Quinn," she whispered before brushing past Mrs. Fabray.

"Think about what, Quinn?" her mother inquired as she sat down on the bed next to her. "Quinn?"

Judy's hand felt like a hot poker on her cheek and Quinn jumped.

"Good lord, Quinn!" Mrs. Fabray gasped. "You're freezing!"

"I don't feel well," she mumbled in a daze.

"Heavens," Judy gushed. "Get under the covers and I'll throw more wood on the fire."

Quinn did as she was told; shaky hands unlaced her dress and pulled her nightgown over her head before she crept between the sheets.

"I don't think I should go to church tomorrow," she said with a cough. "Do you suppose father would be very mad if I stayed home?"

"Of course not," her mother soothed as she pressed a warm hand to her daughters forehead. "You just rest. We can't have the entire congregation seeing you like this. Don't worry about it, dear, just rest."

After Mrs. Fabray fretted over her a while longer before leaving to let Mr. Fabray know what was happening, Quinn rolled over in bed.

"Just one quick talk," she whispered to herself. "It will only take a few minutes. I'll tell her that the kiss was a mistake and she'll agree. I just need to know that she is going to be alright."

With that she squeezed her eyes shut and willed herself to fall asleep.

* * *

**Thanks again; until next time.  
**


	12. Chapter 12: I Should Tell You

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters*  
**

**A huge thanks to Invisimeg; without whom my stories would be riddled with grammatical errors. **

**Also a huge thanks to all of my reviewers who keep me going when I feel like giving up. It was a big push to get this chapter finished because my parents are coming in to visit this week. I considered putting it off but then I thought, no, I'm staying consistent as long as I can. **

* * *

**I Should Tell You  
**

Rachel woke suddenly; the sky was overcast and it looked much earlier than the grandfather clock indicated. Her heart beat restlessly as she sat up in bed and glanced out the window at the dull grey. Normally the poor weather would have dampened her sprits, but she felt oddly excited to greet this new day. She tossed the blankets aside and rested her feet lightly on the cool floor before hobbling to the vanity with a victorious grin on her face. No doubt someone would soon be in to check on her and chastise her for leaving the bed without—unneeded—assistance. Rachel paused before picking up her brush and eyed the door; she felt sure there was someone standing in the hall.

"Hello?" she tested.

When there was no answer, she shrugged to herself and began brushing her hair. It occurred to her that it was slightly strange that no one had come in yet; every day Rachel seemed to be smothered with more nervous attention than the last. She was still waiting for Tina to return and finish the story about what she had seen the night before the attack.

"Hello?" Rachel called again, her brush frozen in place, when she heard shuffling beyond the door. "Who's there?"

The brunette could practically feel someone waiting at the door and she held her breath until she heard the rustle of fabric again.

"Come in," she snapped in irritation. "I know you are out there."

Rachel was sure that it was Tina; if it were Brittany, the girl would have bounded in without knocking—the same with Santana. They both had made a habit of barging in unannounced whenever the mood struck them. Her fathers and Jesse would have knocked by now. The brunette hummed to herself as she turned back to the mirror. The knob clicked faintly and the hinges squeaked slightly, but Rachel didn't turn her head as she continued to brush.

"I'm glad you came," she said breezily without bothering to glance back. "We need to talk about the other day. You left so suddenly I never got a chance to ask—"

"I know," Quinn's voice husked as the door closed behind her.

Rachel spun around on the ottoman, her head suddenly dizzy, though she couldn't be sure if it was because of the movement or the blonde's unexpected appearance. Quinn was instantly beside her, steadying her as she teetered in place. Another wave of dizziness washed over her as she stared dumbly into the girl's hazel eyes; it had been over a week since she last saw the girl, but it felt like much longer.

"Quinn," she stammered. "How? Why? Does your father know you are here?"

Rachel glanced nervously towards the window and then back at her friend.

"They're at church," Quinn replied quickly. "I told them I was sick. I'll go home before the service lets out."

"But what if you're caught?" Rachel squeaked. "I can't imagine what he would do if—"

"I had to come talk to you," the blonde said steadily, and the eerie calm of her voice made the brunette panic.

"Stay here," she whispered urgently. "Daddy would give you a room, I'm sure of it. Don't go back."

Quinn looked at her pitifully as she answered, "I have to go back, Rachel."

"Brittany told me everything that happened after you left the last time," Rachel blurted desperately. "Please, Quinn, I can't bear to think of you trapped in that house with him."

The blonde worked her jaw for a second while Rachel pleaded silently for her to see reason.

"I'm not trapped there," Quinn finally clarified. "But I have to go back. I have a way out. I promise."

"But why?" The brunette groaned.

"I don't have much time, Rachel," her friend reminded her.

Rachel sighed and forced a smile. "What did you come to talk about?"

Quinn stood slowly, letting go of the brunette's hands, before crossing to the widow to pull the curtains shut. Rachel heard her take a deep breath before turning around and pausing in front of the doll display. Her hazel eyes seemed to be resting on the Rachel doll for a few minutes before she spoke.

"I came here to tell you the kiss was a mistake, that it didn't mean anything. I came to beg your forgiveness and discretion on the matter," she said coldly.

"Oh," Rachel barely managed to squeeze out, her eyes already feeling heavily moist.

Her chest felt tight and she gripped the edges of the ottoman as she willed herself to keep her emotions in check. What did she expect? This was not a world of fairytales, she was not a princess, and there had never been a promise of happy endings.

"But I can't," Quinn rasped. "I don't know what I am, what this is, but I knew what I was going to say and how—but I look at you and I can't. I can't feel ashamed for admiring you. I can't feel disgusted at the feeling I get just being near you, and I can't imagine feeling more damned than I must already be when our eyes meet."

The blonde's cheeks colored and she closed the space between them quickly, kneeling down in front of the ottoman and looking up at Rachel's face.

"I came here to do the right thing, Rachel," she sighed, "but, simply put, I'm too weak to let you go."

Rachel hadn't realized she had been holding her breath until the tightness in her chest gave way to a coughing fit. After some gasping and brushing away of tears, she was finally able to speak, but suddenly she didn't know what to say that would do her feelings justice.

"Brittany said that you loved me. I-I shouldn't have—" the blonde sputtered, her cheeks flushing a deeper red as she let go of the brunette's hands quickly.

"I do!" Rachel gasped once she realized how her silence had affected her; she grasped the other girl's hands tightly. "Quinn, I do. I simply never dreamed—I wasn't expecting—I'd utterly given up on any hope that you could reciprocate my feelings."

Quinn visibly calmed and rested her head on Rachel's lap.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," she mumbled. "I wanted to come as soon as I heard about—but he wouldn't let me. Are you alright?"

"That completely depends on who you ask." Rachel chuckled as stroked her fingers through the blonde hair on her lap. "Most people would have you believe I am an invalid, perhaps for life, but I believe I am quite fine and healing well. Perhaps a little more tired from lack of exercise because they insist on keeping me confined to my bed at all times."

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," Quinn repeated.

"It's alright, Quinn; I understand that your father would have never allowed that," she soothed. "Though, if you were determined to make it up to me, you might accept my offer to live here instead of returning to him."

Rachel could feel the blonde shaking her head no against her knees and she sighed again.

"Why?" the brunette tested. "Why do you have to go back?"

"Because I have a plan in place already," the girl replied. "And if I do this my way, then when I—we, make our escape, we might even have some money to start with."

Rachel cupped Quinn's chin and lifted her face. "I don't want money, Quinn, I want you safe and with me. I'll—we'll, be leaving soon with the St. James's and my fathers already plan on giving me enough to get settled in New York."

The girl's hazel eyes narrowed. "St. James," she grumbled.

The brunette didn't understand Quinn's tone and she looked at her quizzically.

"Yes, Jesse has already promised me a spot in the wagon train once their work is done," Rachel explained. "It's the safest way to go, Quinn. Don't you want to go?"

"Yes, I want to go, and you're right. I was planning to try to convince them to let me join them on the way back as well. It's just—" Her words trailed off.

"What?" the brunette asked.

"I don't like them," Quinn stated flatly.

Rachel's jaw dropped and she let the blonde rest her head against her knee again.

"Why ever not?" she whispered. "They've been nothing but kind to my family. Jesse saved my life; we're good friends."

Quinn shot up and Rachel gasped at the look in her eyes.

"We can go with them, Rachel, but I don't trust them," she fumed.

"But I don't understand where this is coming from," the brunette said in exasperation.

"Because, Rachel, I think they were the ones that—" Quinn was saying when a knock sounded at the door.

The blonde stood up quickly and put some space between them.

"Come in," Rachel called, too distracted to care who was at the door; she wanted to find out what they wanted and send them on their way.

"And how is my favorite patient today?" Jesse said cheerfully as he stepped inside; he looked shocked when he noticed Quinn standing at the foot of Rachel's bed with her arms crossed. "Oh, I didn't realize you had company. I hope I'm not interrupting."

Despite his words, he still closed the door behind him and extended his hand to greet the blonde.

"Jesse St. James, I don't believe we've had the pleasure," he said smoothly. "Miss Fabray, am I correct? My father has pointed me out to you several times, but I'm afraid I haven't had the chance to introduce myself."

Rachel watched as Quinn accepted his handshake stiffly. "My father speaks very fondly of you."

The brunette noted the strained tone of the blonde's voice, but Jesse didn't seem the least bit deterred.

"My father thinks highly of Fabrays as well," he said lightly. "I believe he would have pushed me to pursue you had he not known you were already betrothed. Mr. Hudson is a lucky man, and so am I, it would seem."

Both girls glanced at each other, their faces both slightly paled.

"Betrothed?" Rachel said softly.

Quinn looked simultaneously terrified and enraged, and she shook her head ever so slightly.

"Oh dear," Jesse gasped, "I didn't mean to spoil anything. I assumed you already knew, Rachel; everyone in town is talking about it like it's common knowledge."

He turned to Quinn with a sympathetic smile. "I apologize. I didn't realize that you had not told her. Perhaps that is why you're here now; I was under the impression from your father that you were ill. Now I've stolen your moment like an utter buffoon."

"I'm sure I'll get over it," the blonde said shortly. "You had no way of knowing, of course."

"Well, in that case, Quinn, it seems like we have much to discuss," Rachel cut in.

"Yes," she nodded back, "and not much time. There just doesn't seem to be enough time in the day to accomplish everything, don't you agree Mr. St. James?"

"Please, call me Jesse." He chuckled. "If you're Rachel's friend then surely we will soon be best of pals as well."

Quinn did not respond; Rachel saw her smile stretch uncomfortably tight across her face as she eased towards the door.

"I came over to discuss details of the journey back east," Jesse said as he turned his attention back to Rachel. "Just in case you were bored with our standard topic of Broadway."

"Rachel is never bored with Broadway," Quinn spoke from beside the door.

"Could we discuss the details later, Jesse?" Rachel asked.

"Actually, Rachel and I need to finish the private conversation we were having," the blonde interjected, "Not to be rude, of course, but you understand."

"Of course," he responded dryly. "After all, I do have the liberty of visiting any time. Considering all the plans you will undoubtedly need to make, it would be rude of me to interrupt you further."

"I would like to speak with you again, Mr. St. James," Quinn said lightly as she held the door for him. "I'm very interested the details of the journey as well. I may be joining you, at least as far as Ohio, but even if not, I'd like to know that Rachel will be safe on her way to New York."

"It's good to know you have her best interests at heart." Jesse nodded as he stepped out the door. "Until next time, Quinn, Rachel."

Quinn shut the door quickly and leaned against it with a heavy sigh.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, "what has come over you? You just slammed the door in his face."

The blonde remained silent.

"Honestly," the brunette grumbled. "I do not understand your dislike of Jesse. You and I are under a lot of pressure right now, but he was being nothing but polite."

"He's in love with you," Quinn spat. "He was politely staking a claim to you like a plot of land."

Rachel's jaw dropped again and she shook her head. "No, we're just dear friends, Quinn. We share an appreciation for art and theater and vocabulary that ranges beyond howdy. That is all."

"That's all it is for you, but not for him," she shot back.

"No." Rachel shook her head. "He's never acted anything more than a friend and a gentleman to me. You should give him a chance, Quinn; you don't know him. He saved my life and he stopped Sue from arresting Kurt and his father, and don't think for a second that pretending to be jealous of him is going to distract me from your impending marriage."

Quinn covered her face in her hands; Rachel stood slowly, already feeling guilty for making the girl she loved cry so soon after declaring her love for her, and walked over to her. As she got closer she realized the blonde wasn't crying, she was laughing.

"I'm not getting married, Rachel." She sighed. "That's part of my plan and Finn is playing along in exchange for me steering Marley Rose in his direction before I leave."

"Oh," the brunette breathed, her head feeling slightly dizzy again, and she swayed a little.

Quinn had her by the arm in no time and was steering her towards the bed. She wanted to protest at the unneeded aid, but the girl's arm around her waist felt pleasant and she had to admit she didn't mind the attention half as much when it came from Quinn.

"You didn't tell me how badly you were injured," she chastised.  
"I'm fine, Quinn," Rachel protested. "I would probably be better if I were up and about. I should be on long leisurely walks in the sun instead of cooped up in bed."

"Humor me," Quinn requested as she guided her to the bed. "Besides, there isn't much sun out today and I don't think it would be safe for us to walk around town together, which means it would probably be Mr. St. James who would be walking you."

The blonde sat down next to Rachel and folded her hands in her own lap. Rachel studied her as she tried to formulate the right thing to say to make her understand that Jesse was not a threat. She wanted to walk with Quinn; she couldn't think of anything that would heal her quicker than the happiness she felt now, which grew despite all her worries.

"Let's not argue over Jesse now." She sighed. "We don't have much time together and I don't want to spend any of it unpleasantly."

The girl rolled her hazel eyes, but then nodded, and Rachel laughed as she reached over and took Quinn's hand in her own. She marveled at how comfortable it felt to knit their fingers together and how natural it seemed to be close to each other regardless of all the obstacles that still stood in their way. They had so much to talk about, but Rachel didn't feel ready to disturb the peace that had settled between them.

Until now, Rachel's hopes for the future had been soured by the fact that she would be alone—living her new life alone, struggling for her dreams alone, and facing every obstacle alone. She would have her friends, of course, but she had been steeling herself for a lifetime without love. Now, the darkness seemed to be pierced by a bright and blinding light—Quinn. There was a long way to go before New York and their future—the remaining time spent in Lima, the journey back east, and the caution they would have to use in their day to day lives once they arrived—but there was a definite light at the end of the tunnel. It was like breathing fresh air for the first time in months.

"Tell me about this plan of yours," Rachel said quietly as she leaned her head against Quinn's shoulder.

"It's simple, my parents believe that Finn intends to propose to me, and when the time is right I will tell them that he has," Quinn explained.

"Finn knows about us?" She gasped.

"No," the blonde assured her. "I don't think he would be able to keep that a secret even if he wanted to. He believes I am in love with one of my friend's boyfriends and that I want to go back east to live with my sister's family so I can move on."

"Were you going to do that?" Rachel asked, peeking up at Quinn as she spoke. "If you hadn't come here? If we hadn't told each other how we feel? You would have exiled yourself to Ohio?"

"No," Quinn admitted. "I was planning on going to New York."

"Really?" Rachel said excitedly. "What were you planning to do there?"

The blonde shook her head. "We're not discussing unpleasant things, remember?"

The brunette fell silent as she contemplated what the girl meant and Quinn continued to explain the details of how she would escape, but Rachel's mind kept circling back to her previous statement.

"You really love me?" she asked. "So much that—"

"So much that I wouldn't want to live without you, yes," Quinn answered.

"I love you, Quinn," Rachel responded. "And though I tried to tell myself otherwise, my life would be meaningless without you. I know now that anything I accomplished would be hollow."

"Do you understand what this means?" the blonde asked soberly. "If we love each other and anyone finds out—"

"I understand better than you might think," she answered. "My family has dealt with it our entire lives. I should have told you before but—"

Quinn shook her head. "You were protecting your fathers. Why would you apologize for that?"

Rachel shrugged; it was easy to forget that only half an hour ago she hadn't know where Quinn stood. Knowing what she knew now, it felt silly to have kept up the charade for so long with the blonde.

"We'll have to find some men," the blonde commented.

"What?" Rachel gasped.

"Like Santana and Brittany with Blaine and Kurt," Quinn clarified. "Once we get to New York. Unless you think we can steal them from San without her murdering us."

"I do not like the odds of our survival in that scenario," Rachel laughed before adding more seriously, "I don't think I could handle watching you pretend to love someone else. I'm a remarkable actress, but I'm not entirely sure I could handle that."

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it then." The blonde nodded.

"I've missed you," the brunette husked.

"I've missed you, too," Quinn said as she rested her head on top of Rachel's.

"I wish you would stay," Rachel tried one last time.

"I do too," she admitted. "But it's safer if I stick to the plan."

Rachel nodded and sighed and they fell back into a comfortable quiet; the petite girl felt tired as though she could sleep now for the first time in forever and actually rest. Her mind was wandering to times ahead of them when they could sit, just like this, whenever they chose to, and further to glances, touches, and kisses. She could feel her cheeks warming and wondered if Quinn could guess her thoughts or if she was thinking the same things now. Rachel looked up to find hazel eyes staring down at her and she smiled. Slowly she pushed up and softly pressed her lips to Quinn's. The blonde's hands cupped her face and held it steady, prolonging the kiss and deepening it. The brunette swore she could hear bells ringing happily in her head.

Quinn jumped to her feet and Rachel nearly toppled off the bed; she caught her and helped her onto her feet.

"What's wrong?" the brunette asked in a panic.

"The church bells!" Quinn cried. "The service is over. I have to go."

Rachel couldn't speak; she only nodded her head vigorously as Quinn flashed her an apologetic smile as she dashed out the door, leaving it open in her wake. She hurried to the window and pushed open the curtains to scan the street; Quinn was right, people were leaving the building and her brown eyes darted from face to face, trying to find Mr. Fabray. Her heart beat wildly as she caught sight of Mrs. Fabray walking alone towards the house and she wondered if perhaps Quinn's father had stayed back to speak with someone from the congregation. Rachel hoped her girlfriend would have time to make it home before he was finished.

Then all the air seemed to leave the room; she heard the all too familiar bellow coming from downstairs. Rachel turned and hurried towards the door; her ankle protested under the sudden demands being placed upon it, but she didn't care. She entered the hall and braced herself against the railing as she peered down at the sight of Quinn's father yanking her unceremoniously out the front door. The brunette didn't feel anything past the adrenaline coursing through her body and she was down the stairs in what seemed like seconds and out the front door.

"Mr. Fabray! Stop!" Rachel screamed.

"This does not concern you, young lady; this is between Quinn and I," his voice was much calmer than the last time now that they were on a crowded street.

"She didn't do anything wrong; she was merely checking on me," she called quickly, using their audience to her advantage. "She was only trying to be a good example of neighborly concern."

To her surprise Mr. Fabray stopped and took several steps back towards her, dragging Quinn along with him, and even though the look on his face was casual, the intent in his eyes was very clear. Rachel squared her shoulders and prepared for the worst.

"My daughter has been told many times not to enter that building for any purpose other than class," he said as he pointed to the Alehouse with his free hand. "As well as to stay away from you. She also lied to her mother and I about being ill, did not attend church, and has shamed me in front of the entire town all in the span of a single morning. So it is clear that no matter the reason for disobeying me, that she has done something wrong."

"Father, you're hurting me," Quinn whimpered as his hand gripped her arm noticeably tighter.

"So I would thank you kindly to leave yourself out of my business and out of my family," Russell sneered.

"You're hurting her!" Rachel yelled at him. "You are a loathsome excuse for a father and I will not stand by to let you—"

"What's going on here?" the familiar voice of the sheriff drawled.

"Mr. Fabray is—" the brunette began.

"Nothing," Mr. Fabray cut her off. "A simple family matter that has nothing to do with this young lady. She is hysterical and set on harassing my family to the point of insanity."

"That's what I figured," Sue scoffed. "Move it along, Berry, and learn to keep your nose out Mr. Fabray's affairs."

"You cannot be serious! He is hurting her right here in front of everyone," Rachel yelled, feeling dizzy again. "Look. It is clear that her arm is already beginning to bruise."

"It's called discipline," the sheriff spat. "I know a high-falutin hellion like you wouldn't know anything about it, but that's how decent people become decent. I'm sure she is bruised and maybe she'll be worse after he gets her home, but she'll be better for it tomorrow."

"He beats her!" Santana's voice roared from behind Rachel as she approached.

Her head was spinning so wildly that she believed she might throw up and she staggered slightly.

"San," Quinn pleaded, and the charging girl caught Rachel before she fell to the ground.

Rachel was trying hard not to pass out as Santana propped her up and hissed in her ear. "Get it together, Berry. I can't beat his ass if I have to hold you up."

"Just—just drop me—" she mumbled through the throbbing haze in her head.

She was aware of the fact that her fathers had joined in the argument against Miss Sylvester and Mr. Fabray, but she could hear little of what was being said over the cursing and Spanish pouring out of Santana. From behind her father, Quinn locked eyes with her and was mouthing that she would be alright and to stick with the plan and Rachel could only manage to shake her head 'no' in reply.

"Quinn, are you alright?"

The words jolted Rachel's attention to Finn, who had just rushed over and was standing next to the blonde; her stomach lurched and she covered her mouth with her hand.

"Mr. Fabray, what is going on here?" he asked.

"Finn," Russell said uncomfortably. "Thank goodness you are here; perhaps you can talk some sense into my daughter."

"I don't know what is even happening," Finn yelled. "Mr. Fabray, you're hurting her; look at her arm."

The boy gripped Russell's hand and the man let go; Finn pulled Quinn a few steps away from her father and glared at him angrily.

"Unintentional," Mr. Fabray tried to play it off. "I hadn't even realized I was holding her so tightly because of them. They are the ones causing the fight. Are you alright, dear?"

"Quinn?" Finn asked. "Are you alright?"

"I—" Quinn stammered, clearly unsure of what to do.

"No she's not alright, manure brains," Santana bellowed. "What do you think?"

"San, stop, he's helping," Rachel managed bitterly.

"This should be handled privately at home, Finn, not in the street with the rabble," Mr. Fabray said lightly. "Why don't we just step into the house and we will figure this out."

The boy didn't move as he looked confusedly between Quinn, her father, and the group of people still arguing with the sheriff. Rachel could feel jealously raging inside her, not because she thought Finn might love Quinn, not because Mr. Fabray would listen to him over her, but because he was in a unique position to be able to help the girl she was so powerless to help right now. She'd never had strong feelings for the boy, but at this moment, she both loved and hated him, or at least she hated the society that gave him the right to step in but refused her the option to do the same for so many reasons.

"I don't know what to do," Finn admitted.

Mr. Fabray's face screwed up in frustration as he realized that his believed future son-in-law was not going to hand his daughter over easily.

"Take her to the ranch and keep her there," Russell spat. "At least then she will be too far away to disobey my rules and visit her. If she wants to come home, then she can apologize, and if not, then she might as well get accustomed to obeying you."

With that, Quinn's father turned and stomped past Judy and into the house. Her mother stared for a moment before turning and following quickly after her husband.

"Rachel." Quinn sobbed taking a few steps forward.

Sherriff Sue stepped in between them. "You heard her father, Hudson; this doesn't concern them. Head back to ranch like you were told."

Finn looked at Quinn and she nodded quickly. As they hurried down the street towards his horse, Miss Sylvester followed along behind them, and Rachel's willpower finally gave way and she passed out, nearly sending both her and Santana to the ground.

* * *

The room was crowded when Rachel woke up; when her eyes opened, all the hushed whispering of her friends and family stopped abruptly. Hiram was standing behind LeRoy, who was sitting on the ottoman close to the bed, and Jesse hovered behind them and gave her a smile.

"I came as soon as I heard," he spoke quickly and she smiled back as she took LeRoy's hand lightly.

"Don't over exert yourself, dear," Hiram said as she began to sit up.

"I'm not," Rachel spoke through a ragged throat.

Santana and Brittany stood close together on the other side of the bed and Kurt was perched on the edge, while Blaine stood nervously next to the door.

"I passed out; I am not at death's door," Rachel assured them.

"You shouldn't have been outside," LeRoy stated.

"That is not the reason that I passed out. I was doing quite fine thank you very much." She huffed. "It was the emotional turmoil. Where is Quinn?"

"She's fine, Rachel," Kurt chimed. "She's with Finn and I think she will stay there."

"She won't come back home, I'm sure of it," Hiram assured her.

"And if she wants to, it will be perfectly fine, because I'm about to go over there and put her father down like a dog," Santana added.

"You'll never get past Sue; she's just looking for a reason to shoot someone," Blaine commented.

"And he's not worth a bullet," LeRoy added. "No need to ruin your life for his."

"You got a gun?" Brittany gasped excitedly. "Can I see it?"

"I don't have a gun, Britt," Santana grumbled. "I was just daydreaming is all. All you pansies can relax."

"I don't think jokes about murder are what Rachel needs right now," Jesse countered. "Don't you all agree?"

"No one asked you," Santana snapped.

"No one had to," he said calmly. "Rachel needs peace and quiet."

"Because you're an expert on Rachel now?" the other brunette snapped.

"I think that's enough company for now," Hiram announced quickly.

"I'm fine." Rachel sighed.

"All the same," her father insisted as he held the door open.

Her friends mumbled their goodbyes as they trudged towards the door; Santana and Jesse had a brief standoff over who would exit the room first, but eventually the boy shrugged and stepped out into the hall.

"You won," Brittany whispered happily while Santana smirked.

Hiram closed the door and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Are you alright?" he asked.

"Do you need a glass of water?" LeRoy volunteered, standing up to pour it before she even answered.

"I'm alright, really," Rachel groaned as she took the glass. "Does this mean I'm going to be expected to remain sequestered in my room for another two weeks? Because I can assure you, I am healthy enough to move around and return to my regular schedule."

"We just want you to be safe, dear." Hiram sighed.

"But how will I ever regain my strength if I am to be locked away and confined to bed? I need to go on walks and sing and get my entire body back into performing condition," she reasoned.

"That's not what we are talking about," LeRoy said softly. "But you are right. Soon enough, you will be on your way to New York and you'll need to be at your full health."

Rachel smiled and took a sip of her water.

"You have to be careful, Rachel," Hiram said firmly. "Both you and Quinn. Maybe you should wait a while before making this trip. Perhaps we should go with you."

"But that won't work," she said with a shake of her head. "If we wait too long, her father will become all the more suspicious and push all the more for an actual wedding and then it will be too late. Though I do agree, I would feel much better if you were coming with us; I don't know if New Lima is safe for you anymore."

"Hey now," LeRoy interjected. "We're the fathers, we will do the worrying. We will be fine, honey."

"I love you," Rachel croaked.

"And we love you, too," Hiram said before placing a light kiss on her forehead. "Now do us a favor and get some rest; we will talk about all this tomorrow."

"Alright," she mumbled.

"Maybe on a walk," LeRoy whispered as he placed a kiss on her forehead as well and she smiled.

As Rachel leaned over the snuff out the lamp, she heard a light tapping at the window; she turned up the wick and carefully crept out of bed. She peered out the window to see Tina standing nervously on the balcony. The brunette yanked the window open and motioned for her to come inside.

"I'm sorry to come over so late and so—" Tina shrugged, "sneakily."

"Not at all," Rachel whispered.

"I needed to tell you what I saw that night, but I was starting to think I'd never get a chance," the girl explained.

Rachel practically dragged her over to the bed and sat down. "Please do."

"Alright. I was out meeting with Mike," Tina began with what she had already said and Rachel tried to be patient. "I thought I had been caught, but when I looked to see who it was, it was Sheriff Sylvester, which didn't exactly make me feel any safer since I'd rather my father catch me out at night with a boy than run into her in a dark alleyway, and she was talking to a few men. I didn't recognize them, but then again, I don't know people very well around here yet. Well, they didn't look right—they kept their faces covered and all of them looked really nervous. Even the sheriff. So I told Mike and he's been trying to figure out who they are, but he mostly has to go off what I remembered but he said he'd keep asking around."

"So she knew! That would explain why Sam had to practically drag her from the jail to get her to intervene." Rachel gasped.

"She seemed really angry with them, though." The girl shrugged. "I mean, at first I thought she had caught them and they had her outnumbered, but in the end, they all just walked away. I was too scared to try to get close enough to hear what they were saying. I'm sorry, but she sounded very angry."

"And she had kept the ones that Mr. Hummel caught in jail this entire time." She nodded while her brain puzzled over the new information. "It makes no sense, but to be frank, Sheriff Sylvester has never made any sense to me yet."

"I'll come back once Mike finds out more, alright?" Tina whispered as she snuck back towards the window.

"Alright," Rachel nodded, "and thank you. You have no idea what this means to me."

Long after Tina was gone, Rachel was still wide awake under the covers, her mind teaming with questions that had no answers. When the clock chimed that it was two in the morning, she contented herself to focus on three things. Her beloved was alright for now, she was coming to New York with her, and Quinn loved her. Rachel concentrated on those three positive points of light in her life until she finally managed to drift off to sleep.

* * *

**Reviews are wonderful - especially when writers are dealing with family stuff. :)  
**


	13. Chapter 13:Take Me As I Am

**Oh my gosh finally the chapter is here. Between a shift change at work to full time and computer malfunctions it's been a fiasco getting this chapter ready for update; but here it is! Thanks to everyone who gave me some patience on this. :)**

* * *

**Take Me As I Am**

Quinn patted Rosey's nose as she adjusted the bridle; since she had come to stay at the Hudson ranch the blonde spent much of her time riding. The activity cleared her mind and gave her a sense of freedom and, truthfully, there were times when she had an overwhelming urge to ride into town to see Rachel, but she knew she couldn't risk it. By now, nearly two weeks since the incident that brought her here, things had fallen into a steady routine. Finn had worried that Quinn living there would damage his chances with Marley; it was a valid concern considering they still had to keep up the act of being all-but-betrothed, but the blonde had a plan. Before long, she had befriended the new girl and invited her to visit often; whenever the boy would complain that he didn't see how this could possibly help him achieve his dream of wooing the girl, Quinn would smile softly. She never entertained Marley alone; she always had Finn with them.

"You'll see," she would say secretively when he would puzzle over how in the world he could ever hope for Marley to see him as anything but a friend.

Quinn felt she owed helping him with the girl since he was helping her with her family, but in reality, it was a welcome distraction from all her stress and worry. Aside from riding, scheming was the only thing keeping her sane. She was double checking the saddle when a familiar voice echoed through the barn.

"Quinn," her mother said timidly behind her.

The blonde felt frozen in place; a quick wave of panic flashed through her at the thought of her parents being here and what that might mean.

"Mother," Quinn responded tensely.

She wasn't sure how to act as she turned around; mercifully, her father was nowhere in sight, but she was still at a loss for what Mrs. Fabray would expect of her. Should she smile and embrace her or should she be ready to meet an icy, detached, gaze? Perhaps a handshake? When Quinn finally did turn, Judy stepped forward and wrapped her in a stiff hug—the action gave away no answers.

"What are you doing out here in the barn?" Mrs. Fabray asked.

"I was going to go riding," Quinn answered cautiously before asking, "What are you doing at the ranch?"

"Your father had business with the St. James'," Judy answered lightly. "He said it would be rather dull, so I asked him stop by so that I could see you. You are my daughter after all; I do miss you. Where is Finn?"

"Mending a fence somewhere," the blonde said with a shrug.

"Then who are you riding with?" her mother asked nervously before gasping. "You're not out riding alone? What would you ever do that for?"

Quinn put on a smile as she calculated a plan. She might not know exactly where she stood with the woman, but she still wanted to spend time with her; she hoped there was still love in Judy's heart for her. Returning to the house would mean returning to playing the part and she would much rather be riding than acting.

"I've been surveying the property for a proper location to build a guest cottage," she lied easily. "Would you like to join me? I could really use your advice."

Mrs. Fabray smiled brightly. "I would love to."

Soon they were making a slow circle along the well worn path along the fences, Quinn riding Rosey and her mother sitting stiffly atop a white mare named Beth. Judy was already pointing out places to build the fictional house. The blonde nodded along to her mother's idle chatter, and for a while, it felt like old times, and for some reason, that fact was less comforting than she had hoped it would be.

"Have you heard from Frannie recently?" Quinn ventured when she found the gossip too much to bear any longer.

"Yes, and she says she would love to have you visit," Judy replied slowly. "But that is up to your father now, dear."

She closed her eyes, trusting Rosey to follow the path, and took a deep breath. Silence fell between them for a moment; it was clear that Quinn would need her mother on her side if things were going to fall in place, but she wasn't sure how to make that happen anymore. The blonde's goal was to leave New Lima with as much of her belongings as she could so that she could contribute once she and Rachel arrived in New York. Even if she would only end up selling them, it was humiliating to think that she would start their life together as a weight around the brunette's neck.

"Why don't you come home, Quinnie?" her mother spoke softly. "This foolishness between you and your father baffles me. Why do you constantly challenge him all of a sudden? It isn't like you."

Quinn struggled to keep her mind clear; logically for her to do what she wanted, she would have to make nice with Russell, but she wasn't entirely sure she could anymore.

"And it's very unbecoming," Judy added, causing Quinn's anger to prickle.

"I haven't done anything, mother," she defended. "All I have ever tried to do is tell him how I feel and he—"

"Your father has provided us with every need, and want for that matter, and he deserves your respect," Mrs. Fabray cut in. "All of this started when that Berry girl and her family came to town. Her friendship was never desirable, and clearly it is unhealthy for you. Yet you insist on rebelling and hurting your father, and me, and I cannot fathom why. Your father loves you and you refuse to appreciate his kindness."

Judy's eyes narrowed as Quinn openly scoffed; she knew her mother prided herself on the perfect family, perfect standing, and perfect home, but she had never noticed just how much the woman overlooked to keep that image alive.

"You cannot be serious," Quinn pleaded. "I know you haven't seen it all, but you have to have noticed some of the aggression he has for me now."

Her mother blinked at her in shock. "Don't be ridiculous, Quinn."

"I need you to see it!" the blonde begged. "I need you, mother; I need you to see what has been happening to me. Please, you have to realize that his actions have been extreme. I have done some things that are wrong, I know that, but don't you see how his reactions haven't been normal?"

Mrs. Fabray huffed and turned her head away from her daughter. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Quinn choked back a sob and tried to get her emotions under control. It was no use; her mother refused to entertain the idea that anything was wrong. The idea didn't fit in the woman's life, and Quinn was quickly feeling that she no longer did either. As they continued to ride in heavy silence, she fought against the suffocating feeling in her lungs; the blonde felt all but abandoned. The feeling only increased when Judy resumed pointing out possible locations as though nothing had happened. Quinn nodded along numbly and unhearing until she heard the woman let out a gasp and the sound of Beth's hooves shuffled to a halt. She pulled back on the reins and stared back at her mother.

"What's wrong?" Quinn asked weakly.

The look on Mrs. Fabray's face was completely foreign to Quinn; she'd never seen her mother look so terrified and she jerked her head forward – fully expecting to see some sort of monster blocking their path. She was not all together wrong.

"Judith, what are you doing here?" Mr. Fabray exclaimed as he struggled to pull up his pants.

On the other side of the fence her father continued to redress himself as a woman struggled with her own garments.

"What are you doing?" Quinn caught herself yelling, her body shaking with rage and disgust.

"There is no need to bring dramatics into this, Quinn," Russell snapped. "What are you doing out here? You shouldn't be here."

"I shouldn't? I shouldn't?" the blonde sputtered back angrily. "What the hell are you doing out here? How could you do this?"

She could hear her mother sobbing behind her and Mr. Fabray's face contorted hatefully.

"You are upsetting your mother," he bellowed. "Now calm down this instant!"

Quinn scoffed and was ready to fire back a harsh remark when her mother spoke.

"You did this!" Judy screeched pitifully.

The blonde turned her head to reassure her mother, but Mrs. Fabray's eyes were narrowed angrily on her own hazel ones.

"You brought me out here to see this, to hurt me," her mother accused.

"What?" Quinn gasped. "Mother, no, I would never have—I didn't know—"

"Yes you did!" Mrs. Fabray insisted. "You wanted me to hate him; you kept saying how I needed to see that he was not all I thought he was. You wanted me on your side and so you brought me here to witness—witness—this—"

"I swear, mother, I didn't," she stammered, reeling from the unexpected fury from the woman. "Mother."

"Do not call me mother," Judy snapped. "As women, there are certainties that we have to accept in our lives. It is our burden to bear, but that is part of being a wife, and it is forgivable when it is an idea without any proof. Bringing me out here—rubbing my face in it—it's unforgivable. I cannot even look at you now!"

Mrs. Fabray clumsily steered the mare around and dug her heels into its side; Quinn stared after her as she sped off. The blonde couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

"It's not enough that you are determined to ruin your own life?" Russell growled from the other side of the fence. "You had to take me down and your mother as well."

Her hazel eyes snapped back to him and she grimaced; she couldn't stand the sight of him and her gaze traveled to the woman who was currently picking bits of grass out of her hair.

"Who the hell are you?" Quinn barked and the woman froze momentarily.

Mr. Fabray stepped between them, though from her place high in the saddle, she could still easily see the woman. "This doesn't concern you. Do not speak to her like that."

"Is she the business you needed to handle with the St. James'?" she spat back at him as she studied her face. "I know you from somewhere."

"I will not be talked to in that manner!" Russell demanded. "I am your father and I deserve your—"

"I will never respect you," Quinn said calmly. "I can't; you have destroyed every value I ever thought I saw in you and you do not deserve my respect."

She felt physically ill as the woman stepped forward to wrap her arms brazenly around Mr. Fabray, but at least it kept the man from scaling the barrier between them. The woman was definitely new to town, but Quinn knew she had seen her somewhere; her father was shouting at her, but she wasn't paying attention any longer as she concentrated on figuring out where she recognized her from. A disgusted smile of recognition twisted her lips as her eyes finally locked with Russell's.

"The alehouse; that's where I know her from," she seethed. "She practically lived there the first few weeks after the wagon train arrived, until the Berry's refused to serve her any more."

"Oh yeah," the woman said brightly. "I remember you a little; you and your little friends would sing sometimes and those damn bartenders would shut down everything for it. You're good, though."

"April, for God's sake, be quiet." Russell groaned.  
"For all your talk, after everything, I don't know you," Quinn said shakily.

It was not as rewarding to be on moral ground as she would have expected; she had begun to lose faith in her father long before this, but she had never been prepared for everything she had ever known of him to be a lie—an elegantly woven blanket of lies covering the hideous truth.

"You're disgusting," she finished barely above a whisper as she began to turn the horse.

"Whatever I may be, it isn't nearly as depraved as what you have become," Mr. Fabray called after her.

"Are you trying to say that being less than blindly obedient is worse that being an adulterer, a liar, and a hypocrite?" Quinn called over her shoulder.

"I know what you are," Russell said lewdly. "You and that Berry girl. I've seen it for a while; it's more than a neighborly friendship, the way you dog her like a love sick schoolboy. You are unnatural—a perversion—a bad seed."

The blonde's blood ran cold and she cocked her head slowly to the side. "How could I be anything else when I came from something as vile as you?" she muttered before digging in her heels and racing for the barn.

* * *

It was a long ride—even at the break-neck pace she had set—before she arrived back at the barn. Quinn's entire body trembled with panic, disgust, and exhaustion. She slowed Rosey to a trot once the building came into view and was suddenly in no hurry to return to the house. Today's events were too much for her, and her only defense was to block it out of her mind for the time being. Quinn pulled in a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the sounds around her, filling her mind with anything and everything, but what had just happened. She had lost her father long ago, even before Finn had brought her here, but today she had lost her mother. Part of her felt it would have been easier if Mr. Fabray had been the man she believed him to be before, but now she felt as though she had lost her entire history. So she thought of her future with Rachel, the amount of days until she would see her again, the logistics of the journey they would take, and the sounds of her surroundings.

Quinn's ears perked up when she heard the unmistakable sound of Rachel's voice coming from the barn. The brunette was humming and it was like a siren's song to the blonde. She leapt from the saddle and all but dragged Rosey into the barn. Rachel turned and smiled brightly as she pushed open the door, but her cheery demeanor vanished when she took in the other girl's face. Quinn tired to force a smile, but it was clear that it was too late to deceive the brunette into thinking all was well.

"Quinn," Rachel gasped, "what is wrong? I passed your mother on the way here; did something happen?"

The blonde shook her head quickly as she guided the horse into its stall. The second the gate latched behind it she flung herself at the brunette and buried her face in the girl's neck. Tears were streaming from her hazel eyes and Rachel let her pull her down to the ground; the girl's hand stroked her tangled, wind whipped hair as she adjusted them into a sitting position.

"Quinn, tell me what is wrong, please," the brunette pleaded. "I want to help you."

Quinn shook her head again against Rachel's neck. "I can't, not yet; just—just stay here for a while."

"Of course I will stay," Rachel soothed. "And then will you tell me what has happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it now," Quinn mumbled. "I-I would rather just enjoy the fact that you are here."

She felt the brunette nod and her body relaxed as she curled against her. When her tears had finally stopped she tilted her head up slowly.

"I can't believe you are here," she whispered.

"Well," Rachel replied in a hushed tone. "Finn invited me to come see you whenever I wanted to, but I was afraid to make any undue trouble for you if your parents were to find out, but—I don't know—today I just had the most unrelenting feeling that I need to be here. It probably seems silly, but I simply could not stand being away from you any longer. So, I came and I'm very glad that I did, even if you refuse to tell me what it is that has upset you."

"I love you," Quinn breathed.

"I love you, too," Rachel echoed back, and the blonde could feel that she was about to ask once again about what had happened today, but she wasn't ready to face it herself.

She wiggled her hands free and fidgeted with her fingers; they were swollen from gripping the reins so tightly, but, eventually, she managed to work the rings free of her right hand. Both rings had been in her family for generations, one engraved with the Fabray family crest that had been passed down along her father's side and the other handed down to her by her grandmother before she died. The family crest was gold with small sapphires resting on either side of the crest; as Quinn turned it back and forth in the dim light, she once again felt slightly sick. She thought of hurling it into the nearest pile of manure but, instead, tucked it away in her pocket. It would be the first thing she sold when they reached New York. The blonde shook her head again when Rachel opened her mouth to say something and, thankfully, the brunette let out a sigh and continued to stroke her hair instead.

Her hazel eyes scrutinized the simple silver band that had belonged to the women of her family for many generations. A bright jade was set in the middle with small rubies encircling it and she remembered her grandmother telling her that this ring would always draw her to love. Mrs. Fabray had thought that Quinn was far too young to be given such a valuable piece of jewelry at the time; the ring had been too large for her childish fingers, but she had proved her mother wrong and had kept perfect care of the heirloom. Quinn looked up into her beloved's warm brown eyes that were still studying her nervously and smiled.

"Rachel," she rasped. "Would you wear this?"

The brunette didn't seem to fully understand what Quinn meant and she took the ring lightly between her tan fingers and examined it closely.

"It's lovely," Rachel assured her. "Why?"

Quinn stared at her dumbfounded for a second before she saw realization dawn on the other girl's face. The horse's whinnied as the petite girl let out a loud squeal. Rachel shushed herself quickly and stared back into Quinn's eyes seriously.

"Does this mean that you want me to be your wife?" Rachel whispered.

"I want us to always be together." Quinn nodded. "I want you to be my family—to be mine—forever."

The brunette cupped her face quickly and planted a warm kiss on the blonde's lips before gasping and looking around nervously, chastising herself for not being more careful. Quinn laughed and sat up, giving her fiancée a light peck on the cheek. No one would come by the barn; it was still early. Puck and Finn would be out working for at least another hour and Mrs. Hudson never came to the barn, so they were safe for now.

Rachel's hands were larger than Quinn's, and after a few exasperated tries, the blonde plucked the ring away from her and slid it gently onto the pinky of Rachel's left hand.

"We will get it fixed when we get to New York," she assured her.

The girl's eyes were sparkling and she seemed like she might cry at any moment; Quinn leaned forward to graze a light kiss on her forehead before standing and helping Rachel up. The girl's brown eyes darted happily from the ring to the blonde and her face was the definition of joy. Quinn knew that no matter what ugliness had occurred today, it would forever be dwarfed by the happiness she felt in this moment.

"I have a ring," Rachel blurted out suddenly. "At home, that I want to give you. Oh this is torture! I feel so incredibly elated and there is no one I can tell about it. It's like being split in two; part of me wants to run headlong into town to inform Kurt about this and get the ring, but I do not think I could take a solitary step away from you even if I tried."

The blonde giggled as her fiancée vibrated in place by her side and continued to chatter. "I even thought about bringing the ring with me, but then I was sure that it would be too presumptuous of me! Why must I always second guess myself? It would have been sublimely perfect."

"You are perfect," Quinn whispered.

Rachel blushed and leaned her head against Quinn's shoulder as she commented. "The school house is almost finished."

The blonde's heart began to beat faster at the thought. "How much longer do you think it will be?"

"Jesse says no more than three weeks," Rachel hummed, the mention of the boys name still aggravated the blonde but she let it slide. "Two if all goes well."

"It's still too long." Quinn sighed before shaking her head, willing any negative thoughts away. "Tell me about the ring you want to give me."

Rachel chewed her lip nervously as she squeezed her eyes shut, and Quinn knew she was picturing it in her head so she could describe it in articulate detail. Her cheeks warmed as she noted how adorable everything the brunette did was and how every quirk and expression made her heart flutter lightly, and she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that love existed.

"It's silver, a fairly simple band, and it has an oval shaped aquamarine in the center," Rachel explained with her eyes still closed. "Set sideways and on either side of the aquamarine are two medium sized opals—mostly white with little flecks of pale blue—so the setting sits a little wide on the finger. I suppose that means my mother also had, well, ample hands like mine, and there are four tiny pearls that fill in the gaps between the three main stones."

"Your mother?" Quinn asked.

The brunette's eyes sprang open and she smiled shyly. "Well, yes, my fathers said she gave it to them so I would have something of hers when I got older."

The blonde was already shaking her head. "I can't take that from you, Rachel; it's the only thing you have of hers."

Rachel instantly seemed to panic. "But that's why I want you to have it. You're the most special person in the entire world to me and it is the most precious thing I possess. Therefore, it is the only possession I own that could possibly do you justice. Besides, as long as I have you, I will still have it, won't I? It's not as though I were giving it away to just anyone. I imagine this ring had deep significant meaning to you and you gave it to me anyway. Am I correct?"

"That's not the same," Quinn corrected. "I knew my grandmother. You've never met your mother and—"

"It will make me happy," Rachel blurted out before blushing a deeper shade of red and repeating more quietly. "It will make me happy to see you wear it, Quinn."

The blonde sighed and smiled, slipping her hand around the girl's waist as she pulled her close, and chuckled. "You don't play fair, Berry."

"How so?" the brunette said lightly.

Quinn chuckled again before kissing the girl's forehead. "Because you're the only person that makes me happy anymore, so if you're miserable, then I guess I would be too."

Rachel pushed up on her tip toes to place a soft kiss on Quinn's lips. They both jumped when Mrs. Hudson called for them from the front porch. The blonde hurried to close the back doors of the barn while the brunette dusted her dress off from their time on the ground. The petite girl then turned her attention to Quinn's dress before interlacing their fingers as they walked slowly towards the front of the barn; when they reached the door, the blonde squeezed their fingers tightly together before reluctantly letting go.

"We will still have to be careful for a while," she sighed as she pushed the door open.

"Of course," Rachel returned with a sigh as well.

"I want you to come over more often," Quinn stated. "Bring Marley with you and no one will suspect a thing." The brunette's nose wrinkled slightly at the mention of the other girl's name. "What? Do you not like Marley?"

"I simply feel that the girl is attempting to replace me in choir—that is all," Rachel said offhandedly.

"She couldn't if she tried," Quinn laughed, "but does it really matter? Soon you will be a Broadway star; let her have the choir."

"I suppose." Her fiancée shrugged as they neared the house.

"Miss Berry, would you like to stay for supper?" Mrs. Hudson asked warmly. "The boys will be back any minute now."

"I would love to," Rachel answered with a quick glance to the blonde beside her. "But I really should begin walking back if I am to make it home before dark."

"Nonsense," Finn's mother laughed, "one of the boys will take you back by horse. You shouldn't be out on the roads alone with everything that has happened."

Quinn smiled and Rachel blushed again before admitting. "I don't know how to ride."

Mrs. Hudson nodded and seemed to think for a minute. "Then Quinn should be the one to take you home. Lord knows she's a better rider than either of them; she could teach you in no time."

With that, the woman smiled and ushered them both into the house, while both girls shared looks of shock and optimism.

"That does sound like a good idea." Rachel hummed while Quinn blushed.

The blonde cleared her throat. "Yes, I think I could do that"

While the brunette giggled, Quinn shot her a serious look before turning to the older woman. "Do you need any help with supper?"

* * *

The ride back from town felt colder without Rachel pressed against her back; the brunette had been terrified to even attempt riding any of the horses—or so she claimed. At any rate, the blonde was grateful that Mrs. Hudson had deemed it much more respectable for them to share a horse than for Rachel to share one with either of the boys.

_We don't want to start any rumors_, the woman had said. _It doesn't take much in this town_.

The two had shared a good laugh about the irony of that statement as they rode into town. Even though Quinn missed the petite girl's presence on the way back to the ranch, she still felt giddy from their time together. Her gaze constantly wandered to the ring that now rested loosely on her thumb; it was fortunate for her that Rosey seemed to know the road so well because the blonde would become lost in her daydreams every time her hazel eyes caught on the new bauble that held so much secret meaning. She would certainly sleep deeply tonight after all the happenings of the day, both good and bad, and the exertion of riding nearly all day. The sun was sinking fast below the horizon and her eyelids felt heavy.

As she neared the barn, her mind was still swirling with the reality of all that had taken place in such a short time. The blonde's head lulled as she stifled a yawn and prepared to hop down out of the saddle. Quinn jerked her head up when she heard voices in the barn and she held her breath.

Puck's voice was easily placed, but the second voice was muffled and unfamiliar; she felt as though she recognized it slightly but could not be sure. Whatever was happening inside, it was clearly unpleasant; she heard cursing and what sounded like barrels being knocked over.

"I don't know, alright?" Puck yelled before the back door slammed open and then shut.

Seconds later, a dark horse came into view, galloping away across the field, and the front door slung open as the boy emerged. He stopped dead in his tracks at the site of Quinn staring down at him.

"Puck?" she whispered.

He didn't look up at her; instead, he stared down at his feet as he kicked up clouds of dirt, and his shoulders were slumped.

"Want me to take Rosey in?" Puck asked.

"I—are you alright?" Quinn asked softly.

He ran his fingers through his Mohawk and looked up, trying to pull off a smooth smile, and it was clear that he wasn't alright. Puck reached out and took the reins as he guided the horse inside with Quinn still on it. She waited quietly until they were inside; when he closed the doors behind them, she jumped down and smiled gently.

"What's wrong, Puck?" she asked tiredly.

"Nothin'" he lied unconvincingly as he began removing the saddle.

"Fine." Quinn huffed as she turned to leave.

"Quinn," the boy choked. "I don't know what to do, alright? Life was shit enough before and now—"

"What?" she whispered.

Puck threw the gear into a corner and cursed again before looking up at her. "I just talked to my dad."

The blonde didn't know what to say; Noah's father had died over a year ago when the bank was robbed. It was clear, however, that the boy truly believed that he had just seen him here in the barn, which probably meant that Puck had finally lost his mind. Quinn stiffened as she pondered what to do.

"Puck," she said gently. "Your father is—well, he died; you know that. The bandits took him as a hostage and he never—he never came back. Remember?"

"That's what I thought too," he nodded, "but that doesn't mean he wasn't just right here, out of the blue, talking to me like nothing ever happened."

"Puck." Quinn groaned.

"I swear!" Puck exclaimed. "Look, I'm not crazy, alright? Kinda wish I was, though—"

It dawned on her that the muffled voice she had heard while outside was vaguely familiar. Obviously someone had been here; she saw them ride off herself. Still, it didn't seem possible. Noah sighed and began setting the barrels up as he watched her out of the corner of his eye.

"You don't believe me," he said defensively.

"I—" she stammered. "Well, explain to me how it's not crazy?"

Inexplicably he kicked the barrel in front of him over again and sat down on top of it.

"It's like this," Puck began. "He conned us. All of us; bastard just got bored and decided he wanted out. He had some woman on the side and I guess when she had a baby, he decided it was time to get out while the getting was good. Before she came into town looking for him and everyone found out. So he gets some low-life's together and plans the whole thing; he made off with the money and left us here to rot. I wish he had died, ya know?"

Quinn reached out to comfort him and he brushed her hand away angrily.

"But then here he comes, out of nowhere, and says he wants me to join his gang," Noah seethed. "Just like that. Guess he thinks I'm just like him; that I'm gonna up and leave ma and my sister the way he did. I shoulda clocked him one, but I was just so—I mean he was dead, ya know? I'd missed him and then he was right here alive. Damn I shoulda beat him down, but—"

"He's your father," Quinn soothed. "You didn't know what to do."

"I mean I got mad and all," he grumbled. "But when he told me to think about it, all I could do was say 'I don't know; I'll think about it'. Shit."

The blonde gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged. "You were in shock."

Noah looked very much like he might cry and Quinn was in no way prepared to deal with that on top of everything else; sure she had always known he wasn't has hard as he put on, but seeing him break down wasn't something she had ever expected to happen. He peeked up at her and shook himself, clearly not ready to be weak and vulnerable in front of anyone just yet. Puck's face was red as he balled up his fists and shook his head again.

"Ya know, they're the ones that attacked the Alehouse?" he said more than asked. "I don't wanna be like him—just some scumbag; I wish I'd done something when he was here."

Quinn was instantly awake with anger; she wanted to ask so many questions, but she would need to start slowly.

"Where is his gang?" she asked, trying to sound casual. "Do you know where he lives?"

"No," Puck grunted. "He won't tell me unless I join up, which ain't gonna happen; I tried to find out. If I knew that, I'd be there right now kickin' some ass."

The blonde laughed, despite her aggravation. "I didn't realize you like Rachel, or the Berrys, so much."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Well, don't go ruining my reputation; it's just that I know a fellow Jew when I see one and no one messes with my Jews. I do have other reasons to kick ass, ya know."

Quinn shrugged. "So how do we find them?"

Puck quirked an eyebrow at her. "We?" he asked.

"You want him punished and I want justice," she pointed out. "So if ass is going to be kicked, then I'm helping. You get his and the rest are mine."

"You gonna beat down Sheriff Sue too?" he asked with a knowing look.

The boy smirked and she rolled her eyes. After a long pause he leaned forward.

"He said he'd come back in a few days," Noah whispered.

Quinn stared down at him as a plan formed in her mind; her nerves were beginning to calm as she realized that if they wanted to catch everyone involved, they would have to be careful and crafty. Miss Sylvester was a force to be reckoned with, a paranoid and violent force at that, and they couldn't connect her to the crime without some hard proof.

"Maybe if Rachel," Puck began.

"I'm not involving Rachel," Quinn snapped quickly; she couldn't risk the girl she loved being caught in the middle of any more danger. "But we will need help."

"Finn?" he offered weakly and she rolled her eyes again. "Yeah, never mind that."

The barn fell silent with the exception of the horses chomping hungrily at the hay in their stalls. Nearly fifteen minutes later, Quinn squatted down in front of Puck and spoke slowly.

"I need you to go into town," she explained. "I have a plan."

* * *

**Once again thanks for reading. I would appreciate any helpful feedback. Oh and I do tumblr updates on if the stories are going to be delayed for any reason but I'm feeling pretty determined to have the next chapter up on time on the original schedule so here is hoping for that. As always hope this chapter was enjoyable. **


	14. Chapter 14: I Know The Truth

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* **

**Note From BetaReader "From InvisiMeg: this being late is completely my fault. I've had it for a while, but it being near finals, I was busy with exams and getting a portfolio dumped on me by my group, literally the day before it was due. So, what I'm saying is don't blame her."**

**Note From Author: What I'm saying is don't blame InvisiMeg ^ because she edits to make this readable out of the kindness of her heart and she has a life. Believe it or not I've stayed on schedule better with this story than any other I've done and this isn't a job - it's something I do for enjoyment and to try to make others happy. (The Please Post Soon's are perfectly fine! I realize there is a fine line between "I'm interested for more." and "Post it already! You owe me!" So there is nothing wrong with saying you can't wait or you're looking forward to it and all that.)  
**

**Ok. As always, to my great readers who have stuck with me and have been uplifting and all around wonderful, thank you again! Please enjoy.**

* * *

**I Know The Truth**

"It was absolutely magical!" Rachel beamed, "of all the ways I had ever dreamed it would happen, I never would have planned for it to go about as it, did and yet it was so wonderfully amazing."

Kurt and Blaine sat on Rachel's bed and listened to her excited rendition of Quinn's proposal—now for the second time since they had arrived. The darker haired boy jumped a little when the brunette suddenly flashed he ring close to his face again.

"When we get to New York, we will have them both resized," she said excitedly. "And, of course, I have been wearing it on a necklace when out in public for fear the Fabray's might recognize it and accuse me of thievery or worse."

"It's lovely," Blaine assured her.

"Isn't it?" Rachel agreed, flitting her hand in front of Kurt now. "The next few weeks are going to be absolute torture waiting for construction to finish so we can leave. Oh, I wish the two of you were coming with us."

Her delicate friend looked as though he might burst at any moment; he literally squirmed in place and it amused her. She knew Kurt was her best friend, but she'd never imagined he would be quite this excited for her.

"I know," Blaine said lightly, "but we will join you out there soon; hopefully within a year."

"I do not see why you feel the need to stay here." She shrugged. "What are you waiting for anyway?"

It was clear that Kurt couldn't take it anymore and Blaine gave him a pat on the back and a nod.

He hopped off the bed and all but cheered, "We're having a wedding."

They chuckled at the look of confusion on Rachel's face as Kurt hugged her.

"The four of us are getting married before we leave," Blaine explained. "That's why we came over; Brittany and Santana are out at the ranch telling Quinn right now."

"They probably had to wait to let them tell her, too," Kurt said offhandedly before apologizing. "But I'm very happy for the both of you, really!"

Rachel took his spot on the bed and her eyebrows knit together. "But why? How? I'm not sure I quite understand what is happening."

The boys glanced at each other and smiled before Kurt took over the explanation. "I am marrying Brittany and Blaine is marrying Santana, and can I just say that I am getting the better deal there, and then we will be able to safely live together. It will be a double ceremony so we will all be standing together. Blaine and my bands will match and the girl's rings will match."

"But, but," Rachel stammered.

"We get to have a wedding," Kurt breezed. "We get to stand in front of our family and friends and declare our love."

"For Brittany and Santana, Kurt" she pointed out. "It's a lie. And you do realize this means you will be living with them for the rest of your lives."

"So what?" the delicate boy replied dismissively.

"We will know who we are marrying," Blaine joined in. "It doesn't matter if everyone else will think differently, because all four of us will know who we are making those promises to. It will be safer for us all and we get to have our family's involved."

Rachel traced her fingers over the ring on her pinky and sighed. "I don't think I could do that, but I am happy for you all."

"Well, you are going to need story of some kind, Rachel," Kurt said defensively.

"I know that." she nodded. "I think I am merely thrown by the shock of it all. Please don't be cross with me, Kurt, I am very happy for you. I simply wasn't expecting that announcement."

As their declaration continued to sink in, the brunette stood and placed her hands on her hips. "Wait a moment! This means that I cannot be at the wedding—positively unfair! Also, it does not answer the question of why you will not come with us now; you could do this in New York and Quinn and I could be in attendance, or there is time for you to have the wedding here before we leave."

Blaine stood and patted her lightly on the back, giving her an apologetic look, as Kurt huffed. "The point is to share this moment with our families before we possibly never see them again, and Santana has some family issues to settle before she can go. Even if we did have the ceremony before you left, there really is not time to plan a proper wedding! I'm not having a tacky shot-gun-reminiscent-wedding."

Rachel nodded and let the boy guide her back to sitting on the edge of the bed with him.

"There are dresses, flowers, suits, and a host of other details I have to try to get in order," Kurt continued to prattle on.

"I'm sure it will be an affair to remember." The brunette giggled and then sighed. "I'm sorry that we will miss it, but I understand why you need time for it, of course."

Rachel tried to pay attention as Kurt began regaling her with every detail of the event they were planning, but her mind kept roving back to what he had said earlier. Quinn and she would need some form of cover, even in New York, in order to be safe. Of course the brunette had known this already, but the excitement of love and Broadway had distracted her, but it hadn't erased her memory of a childhood spent carefully memorizing every facet and fact that kept her and her fathers alive. Somehow in all the urgency of the past few months and the daydreaming of better times to come, Rachel had simply forgotten to think of the truth twisting they would eventually need to do.

"I'm having a difficult time setting a color theme that will work with all of our complexions," Kurt was saying. "And Santana doesn't like roses; she says they are too over done, and she refuses to understand that they are not cliché, they are classic."

"She rejects every idea Kurt has out of principle I believe," Blaine added, "though I'm not sure why."

"Please, Rachel," the delicate boy pleaded. "You have to talk some sense into her!"

Rachel pinched the bridge of her nose and groaned. "First of all, because she is Santana, and second of all, because no matter what, all four of you agreed to—you are the one the world gets to see Brittany marrying. I suppose it doesn't help that Britt is so friendly with you."

"But she is friendly with everyone." Kurt huffed. "How is that my fault? Why should I suffer for it? Would she prefer if I were cold to her?"

"I think if you upset Britt, Santana will break both of our noses," Blaine said seriously.

"Simply imagine, Kurt, if Blaine were to constantly bring up Santana in conversation all the time," Rachel said softly. "If he spoke excitedly about marrying her, without pointing out that he's actually marrying you, or if he talked about her being attractive or how well she sings. Imagine it that way only, since we are talking about Santana Lopez, imagine it much more intensely."

"She does get rather snippy with me when you and Brittany dance together," Blaine commented. "Don't give me that look. I know it's a show, San knows it's a show, I even think that Brittany knows too, but on some level, it must make her feel left out or worried that her girlfriend might have feelings for someone else."

"Since when do you call her San?" Kurt gasped sharply.

Rachel couldn't help but laugh as her friend covered his face in his hands and mumbled. "Alright, I see your point."

"I'm sure the wedding planning isn't helping," Blaine said as he crouched down in front of his fiancé. "Britt has been spending extra time with you and she is so excited about everything."

"I suggest you split the decisions down the middle and let San and Britt plan half," Rachel offered, gaining her a panicked look from her friend. "After all, it is their wedding, too."

Kurt's shoulders slumped as he nodded reluctantly.

"It also may help if Blaine was the one to suggest your plans," she added. "Santana might listen to them more readily instead of looking at it as you calling all the shots."

"But Brittany agrees with every suggestion I have come up with." He huffed.

"My point exactly," Rachel replied calmly. "Let Blaine and Britt deal with Santana and I'm sure you will end up with the ceremony of your dreams—minus me, of course. I am nearly livid that I will be missing it."

"Then stay for it," he stated as he crossed his arms.

"I can't do that. We cannot postpone our departure; Quinn needs to get out of this down desperately and you know it, Mr. Hummel," the brunette replied seriously before she bust out laughing.

Kurt's eyes widened and he looked at his fiancé in alarm. "All this drama and intrigue has driven her mad."

"No—no—it's not—" Rachel sputtered through her giggles. "It's just that I only now realized that she is going to be Santana Anderson. It's hilarious. Santana-ana-Anderson, I'm sorry—I just—I don't know if I can stop."

Blaine stood in front of them stone-faced as the two friends erupted into fresh laughter. The brunette could tell he was struggling to stay serious.

"When are you going to explain to Brittany that she has to take your name? Because yesterday she was trying to choose between being Mrs. Lopez or your being Mr. Pierce," he said casually and Kurt grunted.

While the two bickered lightly about how to best explain to the blonde how last names were assigned, Rachel slipped back into pondering her predicament. She wasn't sure where Quinn stood on the situation, but the brunette knew that she, personally, couldn't bring herself to marry some man—even if it were a sham to protect them. Of course they would never have to consummate the union, but standing in front of peers and swearing false love to someone for show seemed like a betrayal. In her heart, Rachel knew she would never be able to say those words to anyone but Quinn.

When Hiram talked about how dearly he loved Rachel's mother, he was talking about his love of LeRoy; there was no woman standing by his side to have to pretend with while her other father kept his distance in public, and when LeRoy spoke of having no other family but them, it was not a lie. That's what Quinn and she needed—a story molded from the truth. It wasn't that Rachel looked down on her friends for the road they were taking. As the brunette thought more about, it they were right; it was the safest thing, and the four of them, surprisingly, did get along well together. However, it would be a life time commitment to living two separate lives; in public they would need to do more than simply not be physical, they would need to show affection to their publicly known spouses. It would be no small task, especially with Santana's possessive streak and imposing personality, but she believed they would do well. It simply wasn't what Rachel wanted; she could handle withholding excessive attention to the blonde in public, but she could not suffer pretending to love another or watching her beloved exchange meaningful looks and touches with someone else.

Rachel wished she could leave for the ranch to speak with Quinn about what their plan should be, but she couldn't simply leave Kurt and Blaine like that all a sudden—it would be rude. They were staring at her now and she shook her head and smiled.

"What?" she asked sheepishly.

* * *

An hour later, the three of them were walking down the road and towards the Hudson ranch.

"Thank you for agreeing to accompany me." Rachel hummed cheerfully as she trailed her fingers through the flowers lining the road.

"Don't mention it," Blaine replied.

"At least this way you will listen to us when we're talking to you," Kurt teased. "Mostly."

"I know I've been terribly rude and distracted," she apologized lightly, "but you understand, don't you? I'm in love; you know I have little to no control over that."

"Clearly." Her friend scoffed before smiling.

"Clear the road," the other boy called, reaching out to gently pull Kurt away from the center of the hard packed dirt. "Someone's coming."

Rachel turned her head and peered ahead of them; a warm smile spread across her face. "It's Quinn."

"She has quite a posse with her," Blaine commented.

Puck and Quinn were out in front; behind them Mike and Tina shared a horse and farther back, Santana and Brittany lingered behind, their horses ambling close together as they chatted quietly. Rachel couldn't control her pride at the site of her fiancée perched high in the saddle; the blonde looked regal, poised, and determined and she found it incredibly appealing. Quinn, on the other hand, looked shocked and dismayed when she caught sight of the brunette, and it made the petite girl uneasy that her response was less than joyous. Her fiancée brought her horse to a stop a few feet ahead of them and gave her a lopsided smile. Noah continued ahead, but slowed the draft horses pace and glanced back often.

"Rachel," Quinn gasped, "I wasn't expecting to see you today."

The brunette did not miss the way the girl's hazel eyes flicked to Kurt before she turned to glance back at Santana and Brittany, who were still at the rear.

"Yes," she replied carefully, "we were just on our way to visit you. It's such a lovely day and we have the most wonderful news."

"I heard the good news." The blonde beamed down at them. "Congratulations. I would have thought the two of you would have Rachel inside all day talking about the big day."

"We would have," Kurt replied lightly, "if she hadn't been in such a hurry to—"

Blaine nudged the delicate boy, who rolled his eyes back at him as if to say _I'm not stupid you know_ and continued, "Congratulate Brittany and Santana."

"Well, I imagine the four of you have lots to talk about," Quinn said thickly.

Rachel could tell that something was wrong—something big—something involving Quinn, and it frustrated her to think that anything that important was being kept from her.

"What is she talking about?" she hissed in Kurt's ear.

"I have no idea," he assured her.

"Well, something is going on," Rachel insisted as she turned her attention back to Quinn. "Where are all of you headed?"

"Just into town," Quinn said aloofly.

"What's the hold up?" Mike called as the third horse approached.

"We need to hurry so that we can get set—" Tina said before snapping her mouth shut as she caught sight of them on the road side.

"Is there something particularly important going on in town?" Rachel asked, her eyelids fluttering up at the blonde.

Tina whispered in Mike's ear and he urged their horse forward; the brunette's cheeks flushed in irritation.

"Because I was under the impression you were avoiding any chances that you may come in contact with your parents," she continued pointedly. "It must be important."

"Rachel," Quinn pleaded softly. "It's nothing—I simply felt like going into town today."

She was not convinced and her warm brown eyes narrowed as she continued to stare up at the blonde.

"I—well," her fiancée faltered a little. "Well, I don't think hiding away from them is a good idea anymore. They've made it clear that they want nothing to do with me anymore, so I might as well get used to that, and since they don't expect me to move back in with them, there is no reason not to go—well should I be the one exiled?"

Kurt tugged on Blaine's sleeve and began pulling him down the road towards the girls. Rachel shot him a grateful look before turning her attention back up to the blonde.

"I suppose that is true," she said cautiously. "Is that all it is?"  
Quinn blinked several times, her cheeks burning a little brighter. "Yes."

The petite girl crossed her arms and looked down at her feet. "Don't lie to me, Quinn."

"Alright," the blonde groaned, "but if I tell you then you have to promise not to involve yourself in it."

Her hands were on her hips and she looked back up at Quinn seriously. "I cannot promise to do that until I know what it is that you are planning on exactly."

From far ahead of them they heard Puck calling to them to hurry up and Quinn let out a quick sigh. "We know who attacked your family and we are on our way to expose them. Santana was supposed to tell Kurt and Blaine to keep you occupied today so that you wouldn't be involved, but obviously you got to us before she got to them."

Rachel's jaw dropped and her arms went slack at her sides; she turned her back on the blonde and stared off across the open field.

"Rachel." Quinn groaned.

"Why?" the brunette snapped, her words seemed to be echoed by Kurt's sharp gasp; she reasoned that he had just learned of their role in this little adventure.

"Why would you try to leave me out of this? Why would you try to lie to me?" Rachel continued. "Don't you think that I would want to know? That I might want to be a part in this? That it might give me some feeling of control over one of the most terrifying things to ever happen to me? What were you thinking when you—"

"That I wanted to keep you safe!" Quinn said quickly, before lowering her tone. "Because these people almost killed you and I don't want you in that kind of danger ever again."

"Exactly," she replied as she turned around to face her fiancée again. "They almost killed me. Whoever they are, since you still have yet to inform me I might add. They are dangerous, ruthless, vile people and I have no desire for _you_ to come in contact with them either—to put yourself in the line of fire—to get hurt for me."

"I'm not going to be in any danger," the blonde tried to assure her.

"If that is the case then why would I not be allowed to participate?" Rachel countered.

"Sorry, Q," Santana drawled as she rode past, now sharing the saddle with Blaine, but the look on her face didn't look as though she felt any regret.

Quinn glared after her. "I swear she wanted you to know."

"Then she must understand me better than you do," the brunette commented. "In this case, at least."

"Why is it so wrong that I want to keep you safe?" the woman flared, her voice cracking a little as she added, "You're all I have, Rachel. You. You're the only person in the world I have anymore; the only one I can't risk losing. I-I wouldn't—"

Rachel's heart squeezed painfully as the girl she loved wiped a tear from her cheek.

"I can't live without you." Quinn sniffed. "I can't. I wouldn't want to. I've lost everything, Rachel, everything. I just don't want to lose you too. So do you understand?"

The brunette stepped forward and squeezed the blonde's hand, her own eyes were beginning to fill with tears and she rolled her thumb over the ring on Quinn's thumb. Her fiancée leaned down and she pushed up on her tip toes; still, their foreheads were barely touching but the closeness still felt warm.

"I love you," Quinn whispered.

"I love you," Rachel replied. "And I want us to be together always."

"So do I," the blonde responded.

"So if we are to be family," she said sternly, "then we must face everything together—no matter what might happen."

The woman nodded and the brunette hopped in order to give her a light peck on the cheek. Quinn laughed and scooted up in the saddle, reaching out her hand to help Rachel up.

"Then we will," Quinn said as Rachel shimmied into place and straightened her dress.

* * *

The sun was setting; the clouds rolled by in an angry red sky as Rachel watched Quinn pacing in the front room of Tina's home. The Cohen-Chang house sat behind the bank and the brunette wasn't sure if the blonde's nervousness was only about the set-up they had planned or if part of it was due to the fact that the Fabray house was so close by. Tina's parents were still busy in the bank and Rachel peeked out the window for what must have been the hundredth time to see Puck pacing outside.

She felt sorry for the boy; even if he had every reason to hate his father, this still must have been a hard decision for him to make. The petite girl knew nearly nothing of her mother, and she could only imagine the barrage of emotion that must be tormenting the boy outside. When Puck tensed, it seemed to set off a chain reaction; Rachel tensed as well and dropped the curtain, Quinn rushed to join her at the window, and the bushes behind the mohawked boy rustled as Tina inched closer to the jailhouse wall and Mike began slowly backing towards the sidewalk. The boy shifted and backed closer to the bank as a man approached him from around the side of the of the Cohen-Chang house; Rachel covered her mouth to keep from whimpering and Quinn wrapped her arm around her shoulders to comfort her as they stepped back from the window slowly.

"You know I don't like coming into town," the man said gruffly.

"Think it's too much to ask you to meet me half way, old-man?" Puck said cockily. "Or are you just scared to be back in town?"

"Ain't scared," his father assured him. "We both know Sheriff can't lay a finger on me now."

Mike ducked out of sight and Tina inched quietly along the side of the jail.

"You aren't fool enough to try setting me up are ya?" the man said casually, causing Tina to stiffen and crouch lower to the ground. "That why you picked this spot? Or did you turn out to be the sentimental type?"

"Can't really arrest dead men, can they?" Puck answered back as he rested his hand on the back wall of the building his father used to work in.

"Used to think it was haunted," the boy continued. "Silly now, I guess, but I always felt like you were still here—just didn't know how right I was."

Mr. Puckerman ambled closer to his son and Tina took the opportunity to make her way onto the thick planks and around the corner.

"You're a Puckerman," the man mumbled. "You can't tell me that you don't know it's in your blood. I never wanted to be a banker; I never wanted to marry your ma, your grandpa pushed me into that—thought I should go all respectable. But you're a Puckerman; you know respectable ain't something for us."

"You never wanted me," Puck growled, though Rachel could hear the pain in his voice and by the way Quinn's hands tightened on her shoulders, she had detected it as well.

"That's not true," Mr. Puckerman shrugged, "and 'sides, I want ya now, don't I? What'da say?"  
The back door of the Sheriff's office burst open and Miss Sylvester's silhouetted in the light from inside.

"What's going on out here?" Sue bellowed, shotgun raised as she squinted into the darkness.

"Evening, Sue," the man drawled.

"Oh, it's just you," the sheriff huffed, not lowering the weapon just yet, "I believe our deal was that you and your band never show your rag-tag-rag-a-muffin tails in my city again."

Rachel held her breath; it was as though she and the blonde were taking turns breathing as they held each other back from nearing the glass to see more clearly.

"Now, if I remember," Mr. Puckerman chuckled back, "you've still got some of my men corralled in there. That wasn't part of the deal either."

Sheriff Sue lowered the rifle and shrugged. "They can't complain. Bet'cha they're eating better than they did with you and they get to bask in my incomparable glory."

"I recon that if you're set on keepin' 'em then I've got no choice but to recruit," Puck's father replied with a gesture to his son.

"Cool yer heels there," Sue said casually. "Wasn't me that brought them in in the first place, but you knew there would be collateral damage; I can't afford to let them just escape."

"Nope," the man agreed. "Guess you can't. Don't think your reputation could take much more failure."

The sheriff bristled at the insult; they knew she hadn't been involved in the bank robbery. None of them knew how or when she had found out what happened, but it clearly still stung her ego that Mr. Puckerman had managed to pull the wool over her eyes. The bandit chuckled and Sue stepped forward, brining herself face to face with the man.

"Don't push it, Puckerman," the woman snapped. "You might have got the better of me once—not many men do that and live to tell about it—but you're operating on my terms now and that means keeping your worthless ass out of my town. You got business to conduct, you do it off city limits from here on in."

"Sure you won't need my help again, Sue?" He chuckled.

"I'd sooner strike a deal with the faeries that live in Schuester's hair than lay eyes on you ever again." Sue sneered back. "At least they'd get the job done; you couldn't even run one pathetic family out'a town."

"Neither could you." Mr. Puckerman shrugged back.

"Oh I got plans in store for them," Miss Sylvester said dismissively. "I still own this town; I still have the power. I'm the one calling the shots. You're just a forgotten ghost; I'm still the law!"

"Plans?" Rachel whispered nervously.

"Not anymore, you're not," a voice called from the alleyway and everyone jumped.

Everyone's head turned in the direction of the authoritative voice; Mike stood next to his father with a rifle aimed and ready. Quinn cursed a little under her breath and grabbed the shotgun Puck had given her and pulled the door open slowly as she lifted it to her shoulder. Rachel stood beside her; the brunette's stomach threatening to rebel at any moment amid all the action, but she held her ground next to the blonde without flinching. Noah crossed his arms and smirked at the pair of criminals caught in the act; Miss Sylvester and Mr. Puckerman didn't notice the second gun aimed at them from behind—their attention was trained on the judge in front of them. Rachel knew that Quinn had spent the past few days practicing with the firearm, but she hoped her fiancée wouldn't have to shoot.

"No sudden move!" Mr. Chang called loudly. "Drop your weapons!"

The Sheriff cast a sideways glance to Mr. Puckerman, whose hand was nervously twitching near his holster.

"I wouldn't," Puck called as he held up his pistol and nodded towards Quinn.

The pair slowly twisted their necks to look behind them; Sue dropped her weapon with a chuckled and the man reluctantly raised his hands over his head.

"Good thing you showed up," the sheriff tried to bluff. "I thought I might need help with this one. Found him sniffing around behind the bank."

"Sue Sylvester," Judge Chang stated evenly. "I hereby strip you of your title and position. You will accompany me to the jail, where you will be held until you face legal justice for conspiracy to commit murder, coercion with a known criminal, and gross abuse of power."

"Well, you see, that's gonna be a problem," Sue answered back. "I've only got two cells in there and they're both taken."

"I imagine your friend here will not object to sharing a cell with is his two comrades," the judge said seriously.

"Well," the woman said lightly, "in that case, I do. I have no intention of being held in one of my cells."

"What about the good food and company?" Mr. Puckerman sneered next to her.

Sue made a sudden dash and Mike fired a warning shot, which didn't deter her as she darted around the corner of the house and Mr. Puckerman drew his weapon. Instantly, Puck was running at the man, tackling him to the ground, but that was all Rachel had time to see. Quinn was rushing off in pursuit of Miss Sylvester and the brunette gave chase as well.

It was hard for her to keep up, but she hitched up the skirt of her dress and pushed herself forward, unwilling to lose sight of her fiancée. Shots were being fired behind them and the petite girl looked back, but it was no use because the building blocked her view. As she turned her head back around, she nearly collided with Quinn; the blonde was anchored in place with the rifle aimed squarely on Sue's back. The woman had stopped running and was panting in place. Santana stood in front of the ex-sheriff with a shotgun drawn on her.

"You in on this too, Lopez?" the woman said between gasps for air.

Santana nodded with a smirk as she indicated for Miss Sylvester to turn around. "Get moving."

"Oh, Quinn," Sue called bitterly with a click of her tongue. "What would your father say?"

"I don't know," Quinn replied evenly. "As far as I'm concerned I don't have one."

Sue looked at her smugly. "Well I'm sure the feeling is mutual there, blondie; ya know I—"  
The woman froze and grabbed her chest when Santana fired a shot into the air; once it was clear that she had not been hit, Miss Sylvester glared at her, but the damage was done—Sue was scared and the all knew it. They made their way to the sheriff's office silently and Rachel held the back door open as they lead the captured woman in. Once the bars clicked shut behind Sue, Quinn looked over to the next cell.

"Where's the other one?" the blonde asked.

As Rachel scanned the room Tina burst into the doorway.

"Quinn," the girl gasped, "Puck's asking for you outside."

Once back outside, Rachel's eyes fell on two huddled bodies on the ground behind he bank. Mr. Puckerman lay limp on his stomach while Noah squirmed on his back a few feet away. She could tell Quinn's legs were becoming shaky and she wrapped her arm around the blonde's waist to support her as they walked.

"Quinn," he wheezed as she knelt down beside him. "Quinn."

"Shush, Puck, don't move," Quinn whispered.

Hazel eyes searched his body for any damage and he reached up to turn her head to look him in the eye.

"I killed him," he groaned. "Quinn, I killed him; I killed my father."

"It's alright," the blonde assured him. "The doctor will be here soon, don't—"

"They think he's dead already," Puck grunted. "Don't let them know about him—don't let ma or—don't let them know the truth about him. I can't let him hurt them like that. Promise?"

"I promise," Quinn assured him; Rachel could hear how weak her voice was as she continued to try to sooth him. "You'll be fine. Lay still; just lay still."

Her fiancée glanced up at her and the brunette knew she needed help, any sort of help she could give. The petite girl nodded; Noah's shirt and jacket were disheveled and bloody from the fight with his father. The boy dug his fingers into the dirt beneath to try to stay still despite the pain obviously twisting his body. Rachel steeled herself to look at the wound, though she wasn't sure she could bear to see it, and it didn't take long to spot. The left side of his abdomen was torn to shreds; blood seeped and spurted from the angry hole. She had always imagined a bullet wound would be a clean puncture; this was not what she expected. Quinn was talking softly, monotone, to keep the boy focused and her hazel eyes sought out hers again. Rachel crouched down quickly and pressed both her hands against the wound; Puck clawed the ground and grunted but he nodded to her and his groan could be loosely translated as 'thank you'. The brunette had always heard that applying pressure to a cut would help stop the bleeding, but from the state of her hands her efforts were doing little good—she could only hope it was the right thing to do.

"Where is the doctor?" she hissed to herself as she glanced wildly around to avoid looking at her hands.

Noah's rough hand rested suddenly on top of hers and she jerked her head back around to face him.

"Take care of her," Puck begged, almost incoherently. "I love her; I know you do two—you love each other. It's alright, just take care of her."

"You are going to be absolutely fine," Rachel choked out, not as stoic as she had planned. "I think I hear the doctor coming now. Don't be foolish, Puck; you will be fine."

"Take care of my fellow Jew," Puck mumbled to Quinn as the doctor pushed past her and yelled for them to give them room.

She could hear Quinn sobbing as LeRoy eased her off the ground; her brown eyes darted around wildly to find the blonde. Hiram was gently carrying her back towards the street, cradling the girl in his arms the way he used to do when Rachel was frightened or hurt, and she wanted to run to catch up to them. Her legs and arms were too heavy and LeRoy half-guided, half-supported her as they fell into step behind them. The brunette was in range to reach out and stroke Quinn's hair or take her hand, but as she reached out she realized her hands were far to caked with dirt and blood to touch her fiancée.

"We'll get you cleaned up," her father whispered to her as her legs faltered beneath her, pushing her hand back down and out of sight.

A moment later, LeRoy paused to scoop her off of her feet and carried her lightly into the Alehouse after Hiram and Quinn.

* * *

Rachel had never attended a funeral before; both her fathers' families had passed on before she was born and they had never stayed in any place too long. It wasn't something she had ever thought about really—nothing she'd ever had to face—but now she was standing between her fathers, grasping both their hands, as they lowered Noah Puckerman's body into the ground. Quinn hadn't been sure she would be able to make it to the funeral, but now the blonde stood in a tight little huddle with Santana and Brittany on either side and Kurt and Blaine on either side of them. Rachel knew Quinn felt guilty for what had happened, no matter what anyone said to her, and her eyes were fixed on her fiancée as she wished she could stand with her.

Mrs. Puckerman's wailing, and the hiccup or crying from his sister, caught Rachel's attention. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her tanned cheeks; in her mind, it wasn't Quinn who should feel guilty—it was her. Puck had died catching the people responsible for what had happened to her family. He hadn't even wanted for the brunette to be in danger and she had never thought of the danger he would be in.

Hiram nudged her gently; the Puckerman's had requested that she sing and it was time. The petite girl wavered in place after she stepped forward; she wasn't sure at all that she could get out a single note. Rachel cleared her throat and glanced back over at Quinn; the blonde gave her the best smile she could muster and nodded. The Reverend Jones had suggested several traditional hymns that he thought would do nicely, but she knew that's not what Noah would have wanted. The song she sang was probably only known by her father's and the Puckerman's, but it was traditional and spoke of youth and bravery. Even though most of the mourners didn't not understand the language, they most likely felt the intention of it. She knew it was not her best performance; she struggled to control her breathing and keep her voice unwavering, but it was raw and real, and when it was finished, Mrs. Puckerman hugged her tightly.

"Thank you, Rachel," the woman sniffled, "it was beautiful. He—he always spoke of how lovely your voice was, like an angel, and he was right. My boy."

"Thank you," she breathed back. "Is—is there anything you need? Anything that I can do for you or Abigail?"

The woman patted her on the shoulder and shook her head as she reached past Rachel to take Quinn's hand.

"You sang good; I mean well," Finn commented next to her.

"Thank you," Rachel replied softly as she looked into his red rimmed eyes.

"I couldn't have, you know?" he continued. "I wanted to, but I knew I couldn't have sung."

She nodded sympathetically.

"I'm gonna take care of them, ya know?" the boy rambled. "For him; ma says they can move out to the ranch with us. I'll make sure that Abi has everything she wants that I can give her. He was like a brother to me and so now she's my sister, and ma knows what Mrs. P's going through. I'll take care of them."

"Puck would be very grateful," she assured him. "It's very kind of you."

"It was my fault," Finn choked. "The doc was with me; that's why it took so long for him to get there. I was mending a fence by myself. I was mad at him for leaving me to do it alone, I—"

"Hush," Rachel soothed, "I can assure you that it is not your fault. If you need someone to blame, then blame the man that shot him—not yourself."

"Why didn't Puck tell me?" he mumbled. "I could'a helped; why wouldn't he? It doesn't matter now, I guess; that doesn't matter."

The brunette gave him a lopsided smile and patted his arm as he shuffled by to take Abigail's hand.

Quinn tapped her gently on the shoulder. "Your father says we should go home now."

"Alright," Rachel sighed as she took the blonde's hand and they followed the men out of the cemetery.

"It's not your fault, you know?" her fiancée whispered in her ear and Rachel rested her head against the girl's shoulder.

"Nor is it yours," she answered back.

"I know," the blonde said heavily. "At least I'm trying to know."

The air felt warm and weighty around them, but their closeness was a comfort they could not do without. It was the first moment of relief she had felt since she woke that morning; in a strange way, it was the moment Rachel knew that she needed Quinn—knew they would last the test of time. She'd had inklings of this before, of course, but this was different. It was the day that the brunette knew that the two of them had become each other's home. Beyond love, desire, friendship, or closeness—they were family, in every sense of the word.

* * *

**EmeraldStag - I hope that was crazy enough. ;)**

**Texican - Yes, I prefer a season 1 type Finn...you know, before the gradual lobotomy. :) **

**Love-for-eva - Always glad to see a little blood lust towards Russell. :)**

**Alright. So comment, PM, or hit me up on tumblr if you like. With any luck I will have this story finished by the end of the month. Thanks once again for all the helpful/kind/encouraging feedback!**


	15. Chapter 15: Wheels of a Dream

***I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Well here it is, on time, and it is the next to final post. I want to give everyone a huge thanks for sticking with me through this. For the record, I hated killing Puck - I really did; but I write what my mind sees and it couldn't be unseen. So an even bigger thanks to those of you who don't seem to hate my guts for it. :) So read and enjoy and keep your fingers crossed that I live through writing the epilogue.  
**

* * *

**Wheels of a Dream**

Rachel and Jesse waited in front of the Berry Alehouse & Inn; the wagon train would be headed out tomorrow and that meant they needed to finish loading up Rachel and Quinn's wagon. Rachel's fathers had purchased it from the Evans family; they weren't leaving town and had taken up residence in the empty half of the building the doctor lived in. Sam's father had been injured during the final work on the school house, but it seemed he was well suited for managing the blacksmith shop now that Mr. Hummel was otherwise occupied—as the new Sheriff of New Lima. The vote had been nearly unanimous and Rachel felt the town had made the best possible choice; there was no one she could think of to be a more balanced and fair enforcer of the law. Jesse and she were waiting for Finn to finish talking with Burt; they would need his help to load the wagon and to get the final items they intended to pack into it.

"It certainly has been a lively visit," Jesse commented, "but I believe I will be glad to return to civilization at last."

"Surprisingly, I believe I will miss it," Rachel replied. "Not all the danger and gossip, of course, but I do think things will quiet down considerably now. I never intended to stay here for long, but I must admit it has grown on me."

She waved to Mr. Hummel as he stepped out of the sheriff's office with Finn close behind him. Rachel was glad to know that the town would be a much safer place for her fathers now that they had a decent peace keeper in charge. The settlement she was leaving was a better, if not lonelier, place than the one she had come to less than a year ago.

"But you will think about it right?" Finn's voice carried as he and the sheriff came closer. "I'm serious about wanting to become a deputy."

"You got a lot on your plate as it is, son," Burt said seriously. "You're taking care of three fine ladies, and if I were to trust the gossip around town, you'll be getting married within a year. You sure you wouldn't be spreading yourself too thin?"

"That's why I want to be a deputy," the boy insisted. "I want to keep them safe. I don't want anything like that to happen here ever again. My father would've done the same thing."

Mr. Hummel smiled and clapped the young man on the back and promised, "I'll think it over, be over in a day or two, maybe have some more of your ma's fine cooking."

"She'd like that." Finn smiled.

"I'll see you soon then," Burt nodded, "but for now, I need to go check in on Sam and see how he's handling the forge; it can be tricky. Miss Berry, Mr. St. James, good day."

"A pleasure as always," Jesse said with a tip of his hat.

"Please tell Kurt I'll stop by later today before we join the wagon train," Rachel requested with a smile.

"Will do," Sheriff Hummel replied.

"So, you're looking into a career as a deputy," St. James said casually.

"Yeah," Finn said shortly, looking like he wasn't sure if he was being complimented or insulted.

"I think you will make a wonderful deputy," Rachel assured him.

"What does Quinn think of you taking on a profession that could be possibly deadly?" Jesse asked.

The other boy looked confused and Rachel turned their attention to the wagon quickly. With her directing them, the two made quick work of the loading, and with her constant vigilance, she managed to keep her high class friend from asking any more difficult questions to the well meaning young man. With the easy part of the task over, Rachel lead the way down the sidewalk and across the street, stopping nervously in front of the Fabray house.

"Are you positive that we should involve ourselves in this?" Jesse asked quietly. "Surely her sister will be willing to share with Quinn once she reaches Ohio."

"Quinn won't be stopping in Ohio," Rachel answered lightly. "I told you that. Once her parents wrote to Frannie, her sister made it perfectly clear that she is no more welcome there than she is here."

Mr. St. James looked thoroughly confused. "Then why is she coming along? If she is not visiting her sister, then why not stay here with Finn?"

"Because we're not getting married," Finn stated with a dumbfounded look to Rachel.

The brunette worked quickly to patch up the holes in their story. "You can't mean to tell me you believe every rumor and idle gossip you hear from the old ladies of this town?"

"Well, no," the boy said defensively, "but I still do not see exactly why it is that we are interfering with a family matter."

"Because if Quinn wants her things, we're gonna get them for her," Finn snapped. "You never heard of helping a friend out? I know you're pa's in tight with Mr. Fabray, but they've done her wrong."

"Alright, alright," Jesse chuckled, "I meant no offence. Of course; as a gentleman I am always prepared to lend a hand to a damsel in distress."

"That is certainly good to know," Rachel bantered lightly. "For a moment there I thought I may very well be joining into company with a man of ill repute."

"You guys are making my head hurt," Finn complained and they both chuckled.

The aspiring deputy brushed past them and knocked at the door; the two of them followed behind him and busied themselves trying to look serious. A minute later the door swung open and Mrs. Fabray leaned against the door frame.

"Finn," she slurred. "How wonderful to see you. It has been a while."

"Uh—Mrs. Fabray, are you alright?" Finn asked as he took a small step back.

"Perfectly alright," Judy assured them a little too loudly. "Is there something you needed?"

"We have come to collect some of Quinn's belongings," Jesse offered smoothly. "Seeing as she will be leaving and her personal effects can only serve to be painful reminders to you. Would that be a problem, Mrs. Fabray?"

The woman looked wide eyed for a second before she backed a little down the hall. "Of course, I suppose you're right; take it—take whatever you want."

The boys entered the house and Rachel paused in the doorway; it occurred to the brunette that she had never been inside Quinn's house and had never been particularly welcome there—or even in the yard. There were a few things one learned when one's fathers were bar tenders and the smells of certain alcohols were one of those things. From where Rachel stood she detected wine, bourbon, and—if she was not mistaken—cooking sherry. Since the blonde's mother was not putting up a fight about her belongings, she thought it best to not risk upsetting her in her compromised state of mind.

"Mrs. Fabray," she tested gently, "would it be alright if I joined them? To help them know what needs collecting?"

"Go on, dear," Judy said hazily.

"Thank you," Rachel replied as she took her first few tentative steps into the home.

The brunette hurried down the hallway to the room the boys had disappeared into, but she didn't end up being able to give them much help; she was unfamiliar with the layout of the building and was startled when Mrs. Fabray appeared behind her from a doorway she hadn't realized was even there.

"Maybe," the woman said timidly, "maybe they could leave just a few of her things. There's a picture of Quinn and Frannie before her sister moved; maybe one of her dolls—memories of happier times?"

"I'm sure she will be satisfied with anything you are willing to allow us to take," Rachel said nervously, calling into the room to instruct the boys on what to leave behind.

For the most part, the boys were working to fit whatever they could into the hope chest and the petite girl couldn't help but giggle as Finn's face reddened as he stuffed some of Quinn's clothing into a luggage bag.

"You must think I am a horribly unfaithful mother," Judy commented again; this was turning out to be the longest conversation she'd ever had with the general store owner's wife.

Rachel swallowed down her resounding _yes_ and opted to remain diplomatic, "It's not my place to judge you; I am neither a mother nor did I ever know mine."

It was the most pleasant she could be to the woman, but it seemed to be enough.

"Make sure they take her Bible." Mrs. Fabray hiccupped.

"We will," the brunette assured her, glancing around the hallway nervously. "Is your husband home?"

She may have been able to hold her temper with Quinn's mother—the woman practically reeked of regret—but Rachel knew she could not face Mr. Fabray without abandoning all semblance of politeness. In a way, she almost hoped he was home; there were several choice words the petite girl would dearly love to share with him. On the other hand, things would go more smoothly, and they would have a better chance of retrieving Quinn's belongings, if he were busy elsewhere.

"He's never here," Judy grumbled. "Not anymore. He's out building a house for that woman. That vile, slovenly, loose, uncouth, and spirit-addle woman."

The last insult seemed a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, but under the circumstances, Rachel supposed it was to be expected.

"I never questioned his Sunday walks; it wasn't my place, and he always came home," the woman continued sourly. "Had I know what he truly wanted, I would have given it to him instead of a well kept house and devotion, but now I know—now I know what he wants and when he comes back he will see. Do you think he will come back?"

"I—" Rachel stammered. "Well, yes, I suppose he will."

Judy huffed and stumbled back into the kitchen; the brunette breathed a sigh of relief and hurried into the bedroom to help collect items more quickly.

"The woman is absolutely pickled," she whispered desperately. "I'm not at all sure that she is even aware of who I am."

"I feel we may be taking advantage in a way," Jesse agreed. "With her as schnockered as she is, she hardly knows what she is agreeing to."

"Plus she's drunk." Finn nodded.

Rachel and Jesse looked at him in amusement before shaking their heads.

"Well she is," he muttered to himself before addressing the other boy. "It's full; might as well take this first."

They hoisted the hope chest and began to carry it out. Rachel paused in the hall to be sure that Mrs. Fabray was nowhere in sight before following after them with the first of Quinn's garments. She was sure she heard the woman let out a sad little cry as she slipped through the door and deposited the clothes in the back of the wagon. As she entered the house again, she nearly ran into Judy and stopped quickly in her tracks; the woman seemed to have sobered up slightly and her breath smelled of coffee instead of sherry.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Fabray, I didn't mean to rush in so rudely," Rachel gasped.

"Not to worry, dear," the woman responded.

The brunette scooted past her slowly and then turned to ask, "Is there anything else you would like to keep? To remember her by?"

Judy's eyes glazed over for a second before she shrugged. "No, no, I believe that will be all I require."

Rachel didn't ask again; she hurried into the bedroom to begin gathering more of the items Quinn had instructed her to try to find. When Jesse and Finn returned, they were easily able to carry out the last of it. Rachel tiptoed down the hallway, hoping to avoid another run in with Quinn's mother, and by the time she reached the door, she was nearly sure that Mrs. Fabray must have passed out in one of the rooms. She called across the street to her faithful helpers that she would join them soon and made her way to the blacksmith's shop to bid farewell to her friends.

Kurt looked up at her with a forced smile. "Leaving already?"

"Not yet," Rachel sighed, "but soon. We will need to position the wagon this evening and then, of course, my fathers will want our last dinner to be family only."

"Are you saying we aren't family?" Blaine teased as he placed a light kiss on the top of her hand.

"They are not my rules, Mr. Anderson," she giggled back. "You will have to take that issue up with the Berry men."

"I wish you could stay for the wedding." Kurt sighed. "Your plan worked wonderfully and it will be absolutely divine."

Rachel shook her head at him and frowned. "Must you torture me?"

"If you insist on missing out on the social event of the decade?" the delicate boy played seriously. "Yes."

"You will be missed," Blaine assured her. "Now, Kurt, be nice to our friend or I will have to listen to you complain about how badly you feel for sending her off this way later, no doubt."

Rachel laughed as Kurt pulled her into an awkward hug, "It is going to be so boring here without you."

"You will be in New York soon enough," the brunette chuckled, "and by then I will have so much to show you all."

"If you haven't become so famous and fabulous that you've forgotten all about us," her friend grumbled before putting on a haughty accent, "The Hummels and Andersons you say? I'm sure I have no idea whom you are referring to."

Rachel laughed and shook her head. "You have nothing to fear, Kurt. I would never do that. I would never forget you; you were there for me when no one else would give me a second glance. You're my best friend."

He smiled and gave her another hug before taking a few steps back.

"Alright, enough of this," Kurt said quickly. "Let's stop before my eyes get all puffy. You are to write me once a week."

"Absolutely," Rachel nodded with a smile, "and, Blaine, you are to take care of my best friend."

"It will be my pleasure," Blaine replied. "You and Quinn take care of each other; be safe."

"We will," the brunette assured him. "Hurry up and join us."

The three hugged again and the petite girl sniffled as she excused herself; there was still so much to do—she wasn't sure how she would survive supper with her fathers tonight. Even though New Lima was undoubtedly changed, she couldn't help but worry about Hiram and LeRoy; not to mention that until they arrived here, they had been her entire life. Her fathers had been there for her, supporting her every dream, and now that she was about to go out after it, they would not be there. As exciting as the future was, it was also a little scary to think she would soon be starting her life from scratch without them. The brunette realized that she was succumbing to sentimental cold-feet, but that didn't make her nerves any less upsetting.

Rachel stepped out of the blacksmith shop and gazed up at the Berry Alehouse and Inn sign and let out a wistful little sigh. Jesse was rearranging some of the crates in the back of the covered wagon while Quinn leaned against the side of the vehicle with her arms crossed. The brunette's breath caught in her throat as she allowed herself to take in the beauty and grace of the blonde—her fiancée. All her fears melted away as she realized she would not be striking out on her own; she would have Quinn with her every step of the way and suddenly she felt brave, purposeful, and proud. When the girl turned her head and her hazel eyes locked with Rachel's own, she knew she had everything she would ever need to succeed—she was loved.

* * *

Quinn fidgeted in Rachel's room while Brittany looked around the room sadly.

"I hate that this will be just another guest room." The girl pouted. "I don't like the idea of strangers sleeping in Rachel's room."

Santana wrapped her arms around her girlfriend and placed a soft kiss on the girl's cheek. Quinn sighed and glanced over to the window again.

"Relax, Quinn," the brunette said casually. "Nothing's going to happen to Rachel; between sack-o-potatoes and doily-mc-top-hat, your parents won't do anything to her."

"I don't see why she insisted on collecting my belongings in the first place; I told her there was no need." She sighed. "Of course I want them, but I wish she would have listened to me when I told her there was no reason to bother attempting to retrieve them."

"She loves you," Brittany bubbled, "that's why."

Quinn smiled as she looked back at them; the blonde returned her smile, but the brunette's eyebrow was cocked and she wore a disgruntled expression.

"What?" she snapped.

"Alright, Q," Santana spoke seriously, "I understand that you're all in love with that stubby little walking dictionary and you're gonna be rubbing elbows with Jesse St. Stuffy-pants, but you have to promise me to stop talking like that."

"Like what?" Quinn asked in confusion.

"Like them." The brunette huffed. "If we get to New York and you've turned into them, I'm gonna put you out of your miserly like a lame horse."

Quinn rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smirk.

"She's going to miss you." Brittany giggled as she gave Quinn a quick hug. "I will too."

"Are you, Santana? Are you going to miss me?" she teased.

"Please," the gruff woman scoffed, "it'll be the best six months of my life."

Quinn shrugged and headed for the door. "I should go help load up the wagon."

Before she could leave the room, Santana all but tackled her in a hug. "Just don't change," she said quickly before letting her go, pushing her gently out of the room, and closing the door.

For a moment, the woman thought about stepping back into the room, but from the sounds coming from the other side of the door, she decided it would be best not to risk it. Instead, she headed down the stairs and popped her head into the kitchen.

"Do you need any help with dinner?" she asked timidly.

Hiram waved her away and LeRoy responded warmly, "We wouldn't dream of it, my dear; this is the last dinner we will get to cook for you and Rachel in quite a while."

"And the last decent meal you will have until you reach New York, I imagine," Hiram added. "The next few months will be difficult, so just let us pamper you girls for now."

"Thank you," Quinn replied with a smile before heading outside.

She climbed up into the back of the wagon and tried to imagine what it would be like to call this small, cramped space home for the time being. A year ago she would have turned her nose up at the very idea; less than a year ago she was a completely different person and she didn't miss being that girl.

Quinn glanced down the street and wondered what was taking Rachel so long; the door to her old home was open and her hope chest was sitting out front. She worried that her fiancée might be cornered by her father. She hopped out of the wagon with the intention of hurrying off to rescue the brunette from her family.

"Quinn," Judy called from the side of the cart, causing her to jump.

"Moth—Mrs. Fabray, what are you doing here?" Quinn stammered.

"Quinn, darling," her mother said sadly, "don't call me Mrs. Fabray; you're my daughter."

The blonde crossed her arms and set her jaw. "Last time we spoke, you told me I wasn't."

"I know," Judy groaned, "and I'm so, so sorry Quinnie. I was hurt and afraid and—terrible. But I want things to be better between us; I want us to be a family."

Quinn sighed and shook her head. "I'm leaving, mother; there's no time for this."

"I don't want you to go," Mrs. Fabray pleaded. "Please stay, Quinn, please."

She turned her back on her mother and shook her head again.

"Your father has left," Judy sputtered. "Please, come home with me; we can run the store together and plan the wedding."

"There is no wedding," Quinn snapped. "There was never going to be a wedding. I'm not coming back."

"But—" her mother whimpered, "but I'm all alone. You can't just leave me here."

"And when Mr. Fabray comes back?" the blonde asked, watching the woman out the corner of her eye. "What then?"

Mrs. Fabray paused and shrugged. "Well, I—we would deal with that when it comes to it."

Quinn shook her head again; she couldn't help but let a little gasp of a chuckle escape her. As she turned, she realized the woman in front of her was not a repentant mother—not really. Just a frightened, lonely woman who didn't know how to face the world without someone by her side; the blonde felt sorry for her, but couldn't bring herself to forgive her.

"Did you ever love me?" she asked. "Or was I always just a valued piece of furniture to show off to the neighbors?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." Judy gasped. "You're my daughter; of course I love you. How could you say such a thing?"

"You didn't answer me," Quinn pointed out as she began walking away.

"Quinn!" Judy yelled.

"Where do you want us to put this?" Jesse grunted under the weight of his half of the hope chest.

Quinn turned around and began helping the boys load the heavy burden into the back of the wagon. She took care not to make eye contact with Mrs. Fabray as she did so.

"Quinn," the woman tried again. "Please, Quinn?"

Slowly the woman seemed to realize that there was nothing more to say; she turned and began wandering away down the street, out of town.

"Are you alright?" Finn asked cautiously.

"I'm fine," she lied with a smile.

"I'm going back for the last load; you coming Jesse?" he asked.

"In a moment," Jesse replied, turning to Quinn. "So I hear that you will be accompanying us all the way to New York."

"Yes," the blonde answered dryly. "As you can see, there isn't much left for me here."

"Yes, well," the boy responded, "it will be a pleasure to have you along."

"I'm sure," Quinn said with a roll of her eyes.

"Is there any particular reason that you find my company so disagreeable?" Jesse inquired with irritation.  
"As a matter of fact, I do." She nodded. "Because you are only ever in my company in order to be in Rachel's company."

"And you object to my friendship with Miss Berry," he commented.

"Only because you want it to be more than a friendship and that will never happen," Quinn answered coolly.

"And why is that, do you think?" Jesse smirked.

"Because she's too good for you," the blonde said smugly.

"Well then," the boy chuckled, "you have nothing to worry about. If what you say is true, then you needn't fear me stealing your friend away from you no matter what my hopes may be."

"True." Quinn nodded.

"Then there is no reason that the two of us should be anything less than pleasant, perhaps even friends in time," Jesse finished. "In that case, I may need a friend like you to comfort me once I have finally decided to give up."

She was not amused by his banter, but he was helping them after all. "We will see, Mr. St. James."

"So we shall, Miss Fabray," he said cheerfully before turning around and heading off to collect the last of her things.

She heard Rachel calling out and turned to see Finn and Jesse returning with armloads of random belongings; she saw the brunette disappearing into the blacksmith shop and realized that her fiancée was on her way to say goodbye to her two friends.

_For the best_, Quinn thought to herself; she didn't want Rachel to see what would happen next. The blonde wasn't looking forward to putting her plan into action and she smiled weakly as the boys climbed into the back of the wagon. Marley was sitting on the porch of the general store watching them—or more appropriately, watching Finn.

"Finn," Quinn called lightly. "I need to speak with you a moment."

Ideally, Jesse would not be present for this, but this was her best chance. Mr. Hudson jumped down and she positioned the two of them in perfect view of the on looking girl.

"What do you need?" Finn asked, his face falling a little when he looked at her face. "Time for the goodbyes?"

"I—" the blonde struggled, "I have a confession to make."

"What?" he asked nervously.

Quinn closed her eyes and pushed up on her tiptoes to hug him and whisper into his ear, "Puck wanted you in on the plan; I told him no."

Finn tensed and she took in a deep breath before putting on her iciest voice, "You can hardly blame me, can you? We both know you would have just been in the way."

She let go of him and prepared for his response; Quinn was ready for him to strike her, she almost hoped for it, but Finn only looked hurt. Slowly, anger began to register on his face and he lashed out, kicking the wheels of the cart and pounding his fists against the canvas before turning on her.

"You're a real piece of work," he bellowed, "you know that?"

As Finn stormed off she could hear Jesse shuffling around inside the wagon.

"Not a word, Mr. St. James," she called numbly.

Just as she had planned, Marley was making her way quickly down the street, making a bee line for Quinn.

"Quinn, are you alright?" the girl asked urgently. "Is Finn alright?"

"Finn is just a little out of sorts with me," Quinn shrugged, "which is to be expected."

The girl looked at her with pity, and blushed. "Well, yeah, I guess that makes sense; he will miss you while you are gone. I guess he will be pretty out of sorts until you get back."

"I'm not coming back," the blonde said casually. "That is what I just told him."

"Wh—what?" Marley stammered. "Why wouldn't you be coming back?"

"Because my sister wrote and informed me of better prospects in Ohio," Quinn stated lightly. "Educated men with more prospects and means than one little ranch full of charity cases to see to every day."

"But why should that matter?" the girl flared. "You love him."

"Don't be silly," the blonde chuckled, "I don't love that oafish boy. Who would? A girl would have to be desperate indeed to put up with him."

The timid girl slapped her across the face, and Quinn fixed her with a hard glare.

"You have no heart!" Marley snapped, trembling with either anger or fear—Quinn couldn't be sure which. "You're just a—well a—you have no soul!"

The girl stormed off in the same direction as Finn, no doubt to try to comfort him and the blonde leaned back against wagon and let out a heavy sigh. It was done; soon they would be a couple and Quinn could not think of a better match.

"I believe I see what you did there," Jesse commented from inside.

Quinn rolled her eyes and did not respond. She hated the idea of Finn hating her, but it was necessary. Part of her regretted using Puck's death; originally she had planned to tell him that she had no intention of helping him with Marley. She'd planned all sorts of insults to fling at him, but after Noah's death, she realized that a half truth would cut deeper than anything she could make up.

Over the torment in her heart at what she had just had to do, she still felt a sense of comfort and she turned her head to face its source. Rachel's warm brown eyes were on her and she smiled, feeling suddenly warm and peaceful. The brunette was her everything; Quinn didn't care what people thought of her; Rachel loved her, and that was all she needed. No matter what they faced, they would have each other, and that was the making of a glorious future. She knew as long as she was with her beloved, she would never have any regrets'—not the things that she had done in her life, or the things she would do in the future to protect them.

* * *

**Invisimeg - You're the only person I can imagine trusting my first drafts to which makes you the best friend ever. Thank you for convincing me to branch into Faberry (even if I may curse you for it on occasion when I get overwhelmed).  
**

**Everyone who has ever reviewed - Thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know that period pieces are hard for some to get into and I know I haven't managed to stay 100% accurate to history (not a history major and unwilling to ask my history minor brother to look over my facts because well...he is quite the sarcastic judgmentalist) but if you overlooked my flaws and focused on the story I really appreciate the efforts you have all gone through to help me improve or just keep me inspired. I've stayed more focused on getting this story done (and on some sort of schedule even if I deviated at times) because of all of you. Whenever one comment got me down I remembered there were plenty of you out there who hadn't been rude or impatient and that kept me in check. **

**Alright; so there is one last chapter to East & West and I probably should have mentioned that before. Stay tuned for the epilogue and please comment or review while you are waiting. :)**


	16. Chapter 16: Epilogue: Almost Paradise

**Well, this is it - the end of East & West. *I do not own Glee or Glee Characters* Thank you all so much for sticking around through the story. It was a lot of fun to write, sometimes not so fun, but I'm glad I finished it.**

* * *

**Epilogue: Almost Paradise**

The blonde clasped tightly to the brunette's hand as the stage coach shambled them into view of the city. New York was alive and teaming with movement and the hurry scurry of it all excited her more than she had anticipated. She had seen several motor cars as they came further and further east, but none of them had been up close; now their carriage was sharing the road with the machines and she was finally getting a good look at them. They were not the only things she had never seen before and her eyes squinted and darted every which way in an attempt not to miss anything; people on bicycles, boxcars, and all kind of contraptions filled the street. Their coach seemed very out of place and the horses seemed skittish. She waved excitedly to every person who stared in their direction and wondered if they would be able to sell their vehicle after all; it didn't seem like anyone would have need for it here. As they drove onto a bridge, her excitement kicked up again; they were so close now, but neither of them really knew exactly where they were going.

The blonde leaned precariously forward to call to the men driving the horses. Her hair fluttered wildly in the gusty wind and her lover gripped her firmly by the hips to steady her, causing her to laugh.

"How much farther," the woman yelled against the wind. "Are we there yet?"

"Just down the street once we are over the bridge," the driver replied good-naturedly.

"Alright, enough of that," her companion demanded with a tug.

"I'm just so excited, aren't you? I thought you'd be more excited." The blonde pouted in confusion.

"Oh no," her partner shot back seriously. "I'm excited, but we survived this far, and I won't have you getting hurt now that we're finally here."

"I can't get hurt." Brittany laughed, swatting Santana playfully. "You're with me and I never get hurt when you're with me. I'm your gal."

Santana smiled that smile that she reserved only for Brittany, and nodded. "Damn right, you're my gal."

Brittany flipped through the letters she had received from Rachel and Quinn over the past year; she saved them all like precious proof of where their lives where headed. She had done her best to answer every letter, keeping Rachel up to date on how her fathers were doing, which was very well, but she left out any information on the Fabrays. It was not a pleasant story to tell, and even now she hoped that Quinn would not ask her when they arrived. While it was true that Mrs. Fabray was regaining her footing—their community had seen to that—her friend's father was not fairing so well. Santana often commented that he was getting exactly what he deserved; his mistress was running his business, and him, into the ground, and April was rumored to already be stepping out on him. No matter how much her lover insisted that Quinn might enjoy hearing all about it, Brittany knew better and found it more pleasant to share good news. So, instead, she wrote about how Hiram and LeRoy had finally managed to build a small house outside of town and the Alehouse and Inn was flourishing with David Karofsky tending to it when the Berrys were out of town. Brittany notified them the moment that Sheriff Hummel had brought in the last of the gang for judgment and the fact that the townspeople were so happy to finally have a lawman that was just and fair. She wrote about their wedding and then about all the engagements of their friends: Tina and Mike, Finn and Marley, and Sam and Mercedes. Even Mr. Schuester had summoned up the courage to begin courting Miss Pillsbury. It had been easy to fill page after page with happy news and she had waited eagerly every day to receive their replies. As she shuffled through the letters once again, she almost felt sad that she would never receive a letter from them again. It had been even more exciting than receiving the secret books that Quinn used to order.

A very disgruntled Lord Tubbington mewed and hissed in the crate between them and the blonde pouted again. "Can't we let him out, just for a little bit? I could hold him in my lap."

The brunette shook her head. "He's gonna bolt the second we open this thing and then we will all be lost in New York looking for him."

"He's going to be so mad at me." Brittany sighed as she tried to sooth the caged animal with little luck.

"He's going to be mad at me, which will be normal," Santana corrected her, "and it's for his own good."

The coach was slowing down as the driver tried to maneuver the more crowded street; the blonde turned to continue soaking in their new surroundings. The buildings were so tall and the windows of the apartments reflected the sun as they passed. Posters and flyers were everywhere and people were calling out all along the street; they were passing theaters and cafés and it looked so different from any of the towns they had traveled through. It seemed old and new at the same time, both imposing and inviting. There really was no way to see everything, though she tried, and she couldn't help but look for familiar faces in the people they were passing. She heard the brunette's breathe catch in her throat and her blue eyes quickly turned to Santana, whose hand was over her mouth as she looked out the window.

"Are you alright, San?" Brittany asked; she could see her lover fighting back her emotions.

"I'm just relieved," Santana waved off her concern, "we made it."

"We're on Broadway," the blonde said cheerfully.

Santana pulled the shade down and leaned past Brittany to pull the cover down over her window as well. The cat complained loudly again as the inside of the coach became dark. Brittany felt the girl's warm damp lips connect with hers and leaned further in to deepen the kiss. There would be time to see New York; they had the rest of their lives to discover it all.

* * *

Blaine pulled back on the reigns in front of the building Rachel's letters had described and bent down to try to catch a pedestrian's attention to ask if they were in the correct place; Kurt rested his hand on the boy's arm and pointed. The brunette didn't see them yet; she was perched on the stoop with her eyes scanning quickly over a thick stack of papers in her hands. The delicate boy pressed a finger to his lips when Quinn, who was standing behind Rachel and reading over her shoulder, spotted him. He slipped down from the buckboard and tried to make his groan as quiet as possible while he quickly stretched and made his way over to them.

"My stars!" Kurt gasped, as she stopped on the sidewalk in front of them. "Is it really you? Are you _the_ Rachel Berry?"

Rachel's head shot up and she squealed, tossing the script aside, and leaping up to envelop him in her arms. He laughed and tried to keep up the charade of awestruck fan.

"I can't believe I am hugging Rachel Berry," the boy sputtered cheerfully. "Oh I simply must have your autograph! Oh, Miss Berry, I am your absolute biggest fan. In fact I have tickets to your performance tomorrow."

"Not just yet you don't." Quinn chuckled from the stoop as she collected the discarded pages. "As for biggest fan, I believe you will have to get in line."

"Oh," he turned his attention to the blonde, "and are you truly _the_ Miss Berry? Quinn Berry, the up and coming starlet everyone is buzzing about? My heart can barely take it."

"Hush." Quinn giggled. "How was your trip?"

Blaine joined them on the sidewalk as people shuffled by. "I told them we had arrived, but I believe they are…otherwise occupied."

"Oh, Blaine," Kurt said quickly, choosing to ignore what his lover had just implied. "You won't believe our luck. We have just stumbled upon the famous Berry sisters!"

Rachel was clearly soaking up all the play praise, but Quinn seemed weary of it already.

"It's only been a handful of small plays," the blonde shrugged, "I still have a long way to go towards getting this city to realize Rachel's true potential, but we are getting there."

"I hear that you aren't doing so bad yourself." Blaine commented.

"She's amazing!" Rachel cheered. "Her last performance was splendid; the audience loved us—but then we did fit the roles very well. The director couldn't believe his luck when he discovered that our lives were practically his story."

"What an amazing story it is," Kurt chimed in. "Sister-in-laws whose husbands tragically died as they made their way to New York; left alone with no one but each other to make their way in an unknown city, and, of course, knowing neither could ever marry again."

"Do you have a problem with our situation?" Quinn asked lightly. "It is not our fault that we could never love any other men; such is the love we had."

"It's brilliant," he assured her. "It's sad and inspiring all at the same time."

The two women shared a warm look as the blonde quoted purposefully, "Entreat me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee."

The brunette finished the quotation solemnly, in the voice of a promise, "For whither thou goest I will go; whither thou lodgest I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people; and thy god, my god."

Kurt recognized the verse well; it was often used in weddings and he realized its full meaning to them. His eyes flicked quickly to Blaine, who smiled sheepishly back at him. They had their own code for expressing their love in public places; the dark haired man slowly adjusted his wedding band and Kurt followed suit to return their sign of affection.

Rachel beamed at him and then glanced towards the carriage. "You must be in a hurry to get settled. Your things arrived earlier this week; I believe we may have overestimated our apartment's capacity, so things will be rather cramped."

"Hopefully we will find a place of our own soon," Blaine said apologetically.

"Actually," Quinn spoke up, "we might have found you a place already."

"Us a place," Rachel corrected.

Kurt watched as the blonde rolled her eyes and responded, "Let's just see if you still think it's a good idea once you get reacquainted with Santana."

"What are you talking about?" he asked warily.

The brunette smiled again. "There is a lovely three family townhouse in Bushwick for sale, and between what Quinn and I have saved, and the money your families contributed for you to get settled into married life in New York, I believe we could purchase it together. There is plenty of room for all of us, there would even be a guest room, and while I admit it is a little out of the way, I believe you will find that to be a good thing as you grow accustomed to the city."

"There is time to think about it," Quinn assured him. "The owner has agreed to hold it while we decide for the time being. He's a fan of the theater and seems happy for the chance to pass it on to Broadway up and comers."

"Should we get Brittany and Santana out here to discuss this?" Rachel wondered out loud.

"No," both men answered in unison and the blonde laughed at the brunette's puzzled expression.

"It might be best to let them—finish whatever they are doing before we let them into our home." Quinn giggled.

Kurt was amazed at the change in his friends; Quinn had always seemed harsh and cold, but looking at them together, she was warm and lively. It was clear that the two had a wonderful effect on each other and he was in no hurry to bring Santana into the mix just yet. They were getting along better now, but she still had a tendency to rub him the wrong way; she seemed to do it for fun, but he was learning to ignore it and—though Kurt didn't care to admit it—was actually growing slightly fond of her. Still, she was louder and coarser than he usually liked to be and for the moment, he was enjoying the light exchange between the four of them on the sidewalk.

"We should look at the place today," Rachel insisted. "Tomorrow will be filled with rehearsals."

"I suppose we could unpack a few of our things and then take a look." Blaine nodded. "If we wanted to check out alternatives tomorrow then that would keep us out of your hair while you are preparing."

"Good," the brunette said knowingly, "because I took the liberty of making an appointment with the owner for this evening. I just know you will adore it! I highly doubt you will want to look any further after that; besides, you will be far too busy tomorrow."

Kurt looked at Blaine with a grimace; he wasn't sure what his friend meant about being too busy, but they had been looking forward to relaxing for at least a day after such a long journey.

"It's been a very long trip, Rachel; I'm not sure that we will be up to doing much at all tomorrow," he admitted.

The brunette's hands were on her hips and she tilted her head to the side. "Are you telling me that all four of you would rather sleep the day away than, perhaps, audition for our director's next play? He's already cast Quinn and me, and I made him promise not to cast all the roles just yet so that he could see the four of you perform."

Kurt heard his gasp echoed by Blaine as he clapped excitedly.

"Are you serious?" Blaine asked breathlessly beside him.

"Yes." Quinn nodded smugly. "Rachel can be quite hard to resist when she puts her mind to something; the poor man never had a chance."

"This is amazing!" Kurt stammered before reality set in. "Oh, you are awful for not letting me know ahead of time! We have no time to prepare. I honestly don't know whether to thank you or not!"

"That's why I have copies of the play in the apartment, silly." Rachel chuckled. "I was reading over it while we awaited your arrival so that I could mark the characters I believe you would each be particularly suited for."

"Thank you," Blaine said for them both.

"We are really going to have to get the two of them moving if we want to have you settled and rested before we view the house," Rachel said nervously.

Just as Kurt was preparing to beg his husband to embark on the dangerous journey that was interrupting Santana and Brittany, the coach door flew open.

"Why didn't you tell us we were already here?" Santana bellowed at the boys.

"If you hadn't noticed, the carriage hasn't been moving for over fifteen minutes," Kurt pointed out. "We assumed you were otherwise distracted."

The brunette stopped in the tracks and looked around nervously, narrowing her eyes at Mr. Hummel, and gesturing to all the people milling about around them.

"Darling," Blaine called lightly, "you needn't worry."

"Don't you darling me, Mr. Anderson," she hissed.

"Why ever not, Mrs. Anderson?" the man teased back.

"Quinn!" Brittany exploded out of the coach and made a beeline for her friend, causing Kurt to have to duck out of the way quickly. "Rachel! Oh I missed you both so much!"

"Okay, Britt and I are going to catch up with our lady friends, dear," Santana said smugly. "While you manly men get to work unloading our things."

Blaine and Kurt groaned as they looked at each other; the brunette reached back into the carriage to retrieve Lord Tubbington before joining the other women on the stoop.

* * *

The group of six stood in the large living room after touring the house; it had a nice kitchen, expansive dining room, one large bathroom, two smaller water closets, and four fine bedrooms on the second story. It was nearly perfect; truth be told, her only objection was that all of the bedrooms were the same size—which would take the fun out of demanding it. The owner had excused himself so that the young people, as he called them, could discuss the decision privately. Her dark eyes scanned each of their faces as they discussed the pros and cons. Kurt and Quinn were the only ones who looked less than thrilled, which was just as well; Santana loved a challenge.

"We'll take it," she stated as though it were a matter of fact.

"Excuse me?" Kurt chimed. "Don't you think we should at least take into consideration how everyone feels about this?"

"You're right, how rude of me," Santana responded sweetly, catching him off guard before addressing Brittany. "What do you think of the house Brittany?"

Santana smirked as the delicate boy rolled his eyes and huffed.

"It's perfect!" her lover bubbled. "Lord Tubbington will love it and we can all live together. It's like a dream only when I pinch myself it hurts. See? Ouch!"

It was hard work to wipe the smile off of her face when she turned to stare down her other objector. She couldn't put her finger on why Quinn seemed reluctant to move in with them and it bruised her ego.

"What's your problem, Quinn?" the fiery brunette snapped.

"Nothing." Her friend shrugged.

Rachel wrapped her arm around Quinn's waist and smiled. "As excited as we are at the prospect of living with the four of you, I will admit that we may miss our cramped little apartment from time to time. We have grown quite accustomed to it being only the two of us after all, but we would have to move soon anyway and I cannot think of a better move to make than to be closer to the people we love. Isn't that right, Quinn?"

Mrs. Q. Berry tried to hide her smile, but Santana caught it nonetheless.

"Well, Rachel wants to live with us," she said smugly, "so I guess that makes her the smart one, and that means I have your vote."

Blaine seemed oddly distracted by the wallpaper all of a sudden and Kurt stifled a laugh; Santana narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

"What you laughing at, Porcelain?" she spat.

"Not everyone is as whipped as you," Kurt chuckled. "So you don't automatically have Quinn's vote."

She was very tempted to lunge at him just to see the delicate boy flinch, but her 'husband' suddenly spotted something across the room that needed Kurt's attention and pulled him away from her. Instead, she rolled her eyes and shrugged, turning her attention back to Quinn.

"So, you have some kind of problem with the idea of living with us?" Santana asked defensively.

"No," Quinn replied coolly. "Not if we have some ground rules."

"Oh please, like what?" She scoffed.

"Like no nosing through our stuff, no invading our privacy," her friend listed lightly, "no being the self-appointed ruler of the house, and even perhaps keeping the name calling down to a minimum."

Santana rolled her eyes. "As though I do any of those things."

The entire group, save Brittany, groaned and she gave each of them a piercing stare. She'd never say it, but she loved them all, and she loved the idea of moving into this house and being a family. Santana only wished they would simply stop being idiots long enough to see what a good idea it was. The prickly brunette would never admit it, but she was dying to start making this house a home; unfortunately, it wasn't in her nature to say these things.

"I don't see what your problem with this is," she fumed at Kurt, making a great effort not to fling in an insulting nickname, but she did have other artillery after all. "You're stuck with me no matter what. It's Rachel isn't it? I figured you only talked to her because you wanted to come to New York so badly, but really—if I can stand to live with her, then surely even you could man up a little and do the same."

Kurt spun around with a huff. "That is absolutely ridiculous. I'm only saying that we should think this through before diving in head first."

Santana made a mock display of being deep in thought before rattling out, "hhhmm, yes; now that I think about it, we'll take it."

"Alright," Blaine interjected with a wink to Kurt, "there is no need to fight about this. We still have a few days to think it over; the man is willing to hold off on the sale."

As though her lover could sense the brunette's frustration, she pushed up closer to her and took her hand gently.

"But why?" Brittany pouted. "We're a family. San just wants us all together because she loves us all."

"Britt," she halfheartedly shushed the blonde.

"That's what you said though," the girl continued. "That you want us to be a family and you worry about Rachel and Quinn in that little apartment and what could happen to them alone there with so many strangers able to come and go as they please. And you said you would be less lonely if—"

"Brittany, please," Santana gasped as her face flushed at her lover's over sharing. "What are you all looking at?"

"We love you too, San," Quinn crooned jokingly as she batted her eyes.

"Of course we want the house." Kurt laughed. "I just wanted to see if you were capable of asking nicely or not—and we have the answer now. Obviously."

"Oh, shut it," she snapped. "You're lucky I don't break that precious nose you're always so worried about. Can we just buy the stupid house already before I realize how insane it is to want to live with you all?"

"Well, dear," Blaine teased, "I suppose if it's really what you want, who are we to stand in your way?"

Santana swallowed hard and clinched her jaw to keep from smiling; she refused to give them the satisfaction. She concentrated on looking nonchalant and unaffected. The brunette wondered if she was losing her edge; a few months ago Kurt would have never risked playing any form of prank on her—she would have to make him pay for it later. Right now she was too busy trying to hide her grin as Brittany wrapped her up in an enthusiastic hug.

In all honestly, Santana loved that Brittany had a habit of blurting out some of the things they talked about in private. It was one of her modes of expressing her warmer feelings without having to shed her protective shell, even if it was a gamble at times to determine what conversations her lover would divulge. Finally, Santana allowed her smile to grow wide, masking its full meaning by keeping her eyes on Brittany. The house was beautiful and soon it would be theirs. When she caught the group staring at her, she rewarded them with a steely glare, and the couples began chatting quietly amongst themselves.

"I'm going to go pick our room," Brittany said excitedly, placing a light kiss on Santana's cheek before dashing up the stairs despite the fact that no one was competing with her.

"Shall we attempt to secure the room you liked best before Brittany claims it?" Rachel asked nervously.

"And suffer the wrath of Santana?" Quinn gasped.

The boy shook their heads gravely.

"It's good that you all know your place," she commented harshly as she inwardly thought, _here with me_.

Sometimes it was exhausting keeping her sharp tongue lashing all the time, but it was instinct, and she was beginning to feel sure that they understood what she really meant. Besides, she wouldn't be Santana if she were to soften too much.

"Where is that old man? I should go get him before you four come up with more house laws against me," the brunette lied as she swept out of the room and onto the porch.

Santana gazed through the window from a hidden spot on the veranda; it had been the first thing she noticed when they arrived at the house. The brunette could finally let her face relax into the triumphant expression she had been repressing as she eyed her friends, no her family, without them seeing her. Perhaps someday she would let it slip to Brittany how proud she was of all of them, the way she appreciated Kurt and Blaine sharing their lives with them so that she could feel safer, or how her heart nearly ached with joy to see Quinn smile and know that that Rachel loved her friend more than life itself. Not today, of course, but someday—maybe in a few years. Someday Brittany would announce to them all how much they all meant to Santana and she could pretend that the blonde was blowing it out of proportion, but they would know. In the right situation, she assumed her death bed when she was old and grey, she might just say it herself.

The owner tapped her lightly on the shoulder, causing her to nearly jump out of her skin, and a flurry of Spanish tumbled out of her lips.

"Sorry to startle you, Mrs.," he apologized quickly. "Have the gentlemen come to a decision?"

She collected herself quickly and replied as evenly as she could, "They have; we would be happy to live here."

"Wonderful," the man nodded, "I hope you will all be very happy here. This is a very special house and I'm thrilled to sell it to such lovely people. I raised my family here; there are so many memories. They are not easy to part with, but this is a home built for love and living, not for reminiscing and wishing for the past. My dear, are you alright?"

Santana hastily wiped at her eyes, her cheeks once again feeling the warmth of embarrassment.

"Allergies," she covered briskly.

The old man nodded and excused himself as he stepped inside.

"Thank you," Santana whispered, too low for him to hear, as she followed him in and hurried towards the stairs to join Brittany.

"When exactly did you develop allergies?" Quinn asked briskly, bringing her to a quick stop.

"When exactly did you begin listening in on other people's conversations?" she shot back.

The blonde smiled knowingly and whispered, "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone you are happy."

Santana crossed her arms uncomfortably and locked eyes with her friend; part of her knew it was pointless to argue, but another part of her still felt she could keep the upper hand.

"Oh, while we are making rules," the brunette changed the subject. "I would like to petition that we ban St. Stick-in-the-mud from the house."

"Petition?" The blonde smirked. "My, my, aren't we talking fancy? You won't have to worry about that for a while. Didn't you get our letter? Our Mr. St. James is participating in The Great Auto Race; with any luck he is halfway to Paris by now."

"Huh," Santana replied, "that's almost impressive. Oh, if we're really lucky, he'll just stay there."

Her friend's hazel eyes rolled and she sighed. "Jesse isn't so bad."

Santana was not convinced. "Does that mean he's no longer trying to steal your woman? Because last I checked, he was drooling over her like Finn over apple pie, and it seems to me he could blow your little sister-in-law cover if he wanted too."

"Actually," Quinn corrected, "he was the one to help us develop that little bit of history. He's surprisingly devious; you'd like him if you gave him a chance."

"He helped you?" The brunette scoffed. "Why would he do that?"

"Because he is a flighty man," the blonde responded. "And it didn't take long for him to fall desperately in love with another woman, who by the way, is the reason he joined the race in the first place."

"Fine," she huffed, "if he makes it back in one piece and manages not to piss me off in the first ten minutes of speaking to me, then maybe I'll give him a chance."

"That's what I love about you, Santana," the blonde gushed. "You're always so open and accepting. We don't deserve you."

Santana sneered down at Quinn as she took a few steps up. "Damn straight."

Brittany's cheerful voice echoed through the empty rooms upstairs, calling Santana to help her decide on a room. The brunette cast one last mischievous look over her shoulder before rushing off to join the girl of her dreams.

* * *

Blaine sat in the dim light of the theater next to Kurt. It seemed like a dream; he watched Quinn and Rachel's performance in awe as reality fully sank in. They were wonderful, and in a few months' time, he would be sharing the stage with them as well in the director's next production—it all seemed so unreal. Yet, it was truly happening and there was so much to look forward to. The auditorium was not very crowded; the playhouse they were in was not very popular and the performances there were not top sellers, but to be there, in that moment, it felt like success. Blaine had no doubt that they would make it. It would be a lot of work, but the future was bright; he'd already found work, and Brittany had as well, that would still allow them time to rehearse when they needed to.

To his and everyone's shock, Santana had inexplicably fallen into the role of housewife, and she was surprisingly suited for it. His 'wife' poured herself into making the house a home for them, though she more appropriately fit the bill of mother hen, assigning them their household tasks, ushering them off to their jobs, and cooking them meal after meal out of her grandmother's recipe book. She was still Santana, barbs and all, but her rough edge was ever so slightly beginning to shift from a barrier between them to a protective wall around them all. Or, perhaps, Blaine was reading too much into it and she merely liked being in a position to remain home and bark orders—either way it seemed to be working out fine.

Kurt and his room was directly next to Santana and Brittany's, across the hall was the guest room, and next to that was Quinn and Rachel's quarters. It was nice for each couple to finally be able to split off on their own without fear of suspicion. Blaine felt as though all six of them were living for the first time.

Brittany was flourishing as a chorus girl; there was no denying her natural talent and it was definitely a good thing that she was married. She had only been dancing for a week and already the boys were lining up to have their hearts broken—and the same could be said for all of the girls. The bubbly blonde never seemed tired even when she spent the day mending clothes for people in the neighborhood before nights of dance practice, and what's more, she was like a breath of fresh air to everyone she came in contact with. It also helped that the happier Brittany was, the more contented Santana was—and that was best for all of them.

By far, Kurt was having the hardest time adjusting; he had been the most excited to arrive in New York and begin making his mark on the Great White Way. Blaine understood; despite all the hustle and bustle of the city, the boy missed his father terribly. He worried about Burt being alone, and the stress and possible danger of his new station in the town, and Blaine wanted nothing more than to ease his worries. Their lives had been so difficult; the journey to their new lives had been frightening at times, and now that things were looking up for them finally, he wished he could make it all better, but perhaps it would simply take time. The dark haired boy reached over in the darkness of the theater and rested his hand unashamedly on top of Kurt's; he didn't need to look away from the stage to know that the satisfied sound of his husband's sigh was accompanied by a warm smile, but he peaked over anyway just to take in his happy expression.

"You'll be amazing in your part," he whispered. "You are perfect for it. I can't wait to see you up on stage with them."

"I hope so," Kurt answered nervously.

"You will blow them away; it's not a matter of hope," Blaine said seriously, "it's a matter of fact."

The boy's hand turned and their fingers interlaced. "I can't wait to join them up there."

With great effort, Blaine turned his gaze from the delicate young man next to him and watched as his friends took their final bow. He was so incredibly proud of them and grateful for their friendship. As the small audience stood to applaud them, he reluctantly untangled their hands and joined them. Blaine nudged Kurt's elbow as he edged toward the aisle and towards the back of the room to wait for the stars of the show. It wasn't long before the two girls found them; Quinn and Rachel walked with their elbows linked as they breezed up to them.

"I would have thought you two would be sick of the show by now." Quinn sighed, though the smile on her face gave her away.

"We could never be tired of it," Kurt assured them both. "Frankly I'm surprised more producers haven't approached you yet."

Rachel brushed her hair back with a sigh. "All things considered, we are quite ahead of my expectations and it's only a matter of time before we are all being courted tirelessly."

"You would know about that," Blaine teased as he nodded to the men shuffling along the aisle behind them, obviously in hopes of a moment to speak with the two performers.

The brunette beamed a smile at them and the blonde shot an icy glance their way; he wondered if Quinn would ever grow accustomed to the unwanted attention. He was keenly aware that she didn't have a thing to worry about; it was clear as day that Rachel only had eyes for her, and vice versa.

"Well, widow Berry; are you ready for the real final act?" Rachel asked lightly as she batted her lashes at Quinn.

The blonde took in a deep breath and tweaked her smile. "I suppose, widow Berry, if our friends will be so kind as to accompany us."

"We would be honored." Blaine chuckled with a bow.

It had become their job, on occasion, to escort the girls past the few men who lingered in hopes of meeting them. Kurt and he followed behind the pair as they approached the exit.

"Mrs. Rachel Berry," one young man gushed. "I would like to say, if it isn't too bold of me, that your voice is exquisite. At times I felt as though the heavens themselves had opened."

"You are too kind, sir," Rachel responded demurely.

"No, dear sister, I believe he was very close in his description," Quinn interjected with a sly smile at the brunette.

"Oh, and Mrs. Quinn Berry," another boy took his chance to speak. "You were a vision—truly, truly lovely. There are no words for the performance you gave tonight."

It was Rachel's turn to cut in. "I agree, Quinn; your performance was beyond words."

Blaine had to admit that their over the top antics with these boys could at times be slightly too much to bear, but soon they were out of the building and awaiting their ride home.

"Must you make it impossible for me to keep a straight face?" Kurt huffed at them.

"Consider it practice for the stage," Rachel teased back. "Besides, it isn't as though anything I said was not inarguably true."

Quinn's cheeks colored slightly. "Yes, I meant every word I said."

"If Santana were here she wouldn't allow you to get away with such a sickening display," the delicate boy pointed out, and the girl's laughed.

"She is so protective," Rachel countered, "that had she been here, those boys would have been lucky to have been within three rows of you."

"Are you insulting our attempts to protect you?" Blaine joined in cheerfully.

"No," Quinn smiled, "of course not."

Blaine held the door to the cab open for them and shared a meaningful look with Kurt as he followed them into the vehicle. On nights like tonight, it was easy to see that their lives had begun and, together, they would all be very happy.

* * *

**I hope I tied up all the loose ends, I'm pretty sure that I did at least. Thanks for reading and reviewing. :) **


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